A Merging Dream
by darrelodin
Summary: The Gran Grimoire grants it's readers the dreams they seek, something Mewt is glad to see, and even his friends can come along for the ride. Each one quickly finds themselves living their wildest dreams, but as Marche finds out, this paradise may not be what it appears...
1. Chapter 1: Winter Wonderland

_"Daddy, can you tell us a story?" His children sat up in their beds, eyes bright and shining._

_"Of course." He took a seat next to his son. "What kind of story would you two like?"_

_His daughter seemed surprised at the offer, but his son immediately spoke up. "Uh, how about one with dragons and magic and monsters and-"_

_He laughed, cutting him off. "Alright, I think I've got one just for you. Now, are you comfortable?" They both nodded before resting their heads back on him. "Good, good."_

_"A long, long time ago, there was a book. Yes little one," He turned to his daughter before she could ask. "A very special book, called a the Gran Grimoire. Now, it was said that those who read this grimoire would have all their wildest dreams granted. Many fought to gain the book, for who wouldn't love to have everything they ever wanted? But the story of endless war isn't what I will tell you two. No, I'll be telling the story of four friends who discovered the book, centuries after the greatest mages of the land had sealed it away. Oh, there__'__ll still be fighting and danger, and even some very scary things, but mostly, this is a story about friendship tried and true. And it begins on a winter day..."_

Chapter 1: Wondrous Winter

"And that's how absolute value works." Isaac Leslaie finished, turning to face his class. He held back a sigh at the sight of them all. The front row was writing down notes, but from the frequent yawning he heard, Mr. Leslaie wondered how any of them were even awake still. Glancing at the clock though, he couldn't blame them. The last day of school before break, and another half hour before freedom. Why, it's as if he had asked them all to have some patience! Eyes settling on the light snow falling outside, Mr. Leslaie felt a similar jolt of impatience. He turned back to his class, already thinking of how to speed up this day.

"Alright everyone, since Christmas is just around the corner, and you all did so well on our last test, I've decided to give you a little treat." He raised a hand, silencing the cheers. "However, I'll only give it if one you can answer a one of my 'challenge' questions." He paused, amusement in his eyes at the sight of a now much more awake class.

"Lyle Mertavic." He said, looking to a blue eyed boy in the back of the room. "Tell me, what is the Greek word for 'Earth'?"

Lyle's head jerked up, realizing he'd been called. "Uh…" he muttered, glancing around for any sort of hint. Mr. Leslaie noticed one of his fellow trouble makers, Colin Lynch, make eye contact with the boy. The smug look on Colin's face as he mouthed an answer was confirmation enough for Lyle apparently. "Terra!" He shouted.

"Sorry Colin, but once again your aid is wrong." Mr. Leslaie said. The boy's face turned an interesting shade of red. " 'Gaia' was the correct answer. Perhaps you and Lyle should brush up on some mythology? Mrs. Reynalds tells me you two could use an expanded vocabulary." The boys' faces turned even redder as laughter broke out among the students.

Letting his class settle down, Mr. Leslaie asked, "How about you Ms. Malheur? What is the largest forest in the United States?"

Sitting in the front row, Ritz Malheur had always been Mr. Leslaie's go-to girl when no one else would answer a math question. Or any question really. He wondered sometimes if she even realized how intimidating she was to her classmates because of that. Of course, all of Mr. Leslaie's co-workers were proud of the girl, but he worried that she felt isolated. She had friends, but she never seemed to talk with them much, and heaven help any boy who came near her…

"_Although,"_ he reflected, noticing at the glare Colin was giving her, _"That might be a special case."_

Ritz's eyebrows scrunched in thought, and she kept playing with her strawberry red curls. Finally, she said, "Would it be the Chugach National Forest, Mr. Leslaie?"

A small smile on his face, Mr. Leslaie shook his head. "Close, but it's actually the Tongass National Forest, Ritz." She nodded, already writing down the answer.

Mr. Leslaie looked to the rest of the class, keeping a grin off his face at the sight of his students. He could hear whispers everywhere, and he supposed they were guessing who and what he'd ask next. _"If only they'd be always this excited for learning."_ He thought.

"Well, two strikes everyone. One more, and as they say, you're out. Mewt," he said, pointing at the boy in question. The scrawny kid almost jumped out of his seat. "Can you name one of the religious capitals of the world?"

Mr. Leslaie felt a small pang of pity at the sight of Mewt. He was smart, but word around the water cooler had labeled him below average among his fellow students. Mr. Leslaie didn't agree with his gossiping co-workers though, and took every chance he could to bring out the most of Mewt. Which translated to questions out of the boy's comfort zone. As Mewt's face turned an odd shade of red, Mr. Leslaie supposed he might have embarrassed him, and he made to change the question. But motion behind Mewt halted his words.

It didn't surprise Mr. Leslaie to see Marche helping. If the boy hadn't been doing so much good, he would have received disciplinary action within his first week of school. As it was, Mr. Leslaie didn't know what to make of bright-eyed kid. Only having entered into classes a month ago, he didn't excel at much academically, but his other teachers swore he was just held back by something, perhaps a lack of interest. After all, how could such a kind, charismatic boy not be at the top of his class? He obviously knew his stuff, what with all the answers he whispered away.

Regardless, Mr. Leslaie decided enough was enough. "Mewt?" He prompted.

Jumping again, Mewt looked back to Mr. Leslaie, his hands gripping his desk. He took a couple of slow breaths. Then, so faintly Mr. Leslaie almost couldn't hear him, he said, "R-Rome."

Not responding, Mr. Leslaie walked back to his desk and began packing his supplies. It took every once of his self-control not to start laughing at the sight of his frightened class. Tugging on his gloves, he finally spared them a bewildered look.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked, a grin breaking through his stoic façade. "There's a snowball fight waiting for you!"

Cheers rang out, and the students charged the door leaving Mr. Leslaie alone in the room. Chuckling, he followed, thinking, _"I do hope Ms. Reynalds shut her blinds. Otherwise, her class is about to become very loud."_

* * *

After quite a bit of yelling and threats from his co-workers, Mr. Leslaie managed to herd his class into the playground of the school. Luckily for him, it was near the side entrance, meaning dismissal would be easy. He had the students set their bags on the steps, then separated them into groups. Marche Radiuju was barely paying attention however, instead leaving his napsack with the others and walking out into the snow. The playground looked alien to him. The bright colors of the slides and swing-sets were buried under the blinding white snow everywhere. Even the bushes around the edge of the building had vanished, leaving only glimpses of the green that used to be there. Suddenly, he sneezed. With a groan he rubbed his nose and pulled his yellow scarf on tighter.

_"How can they handle the cold so well?_" Marche thought, watching his classmates throw snowballs at each other. _"And how did Mom think this was a good idea? If Doned is bad in warm weather, how could he get better when it's freezing?"_

"Aww, come on! Why'd I get stuck on the lame team?" Someone shouted. Turning, Marche saw it was one of the P.E. Heads, Lyle. The guy looked like he wanted to throw a tantrum. "Seriously, it's bad enough I'm stuck with the new kid and Lana-" Lana stuck her tongue out at that while Marche wondered how the guy still didn't know his name. "-but Mewt too! It's like Mr. Leslaie wants me to lose."

"Hey, you could always use Mewt's teddy bear for protection! Right Mewt?" Colin jeered, earning him laughter from Lyle and another boy, Guinness. Mewt whimpered a little, shuffling closer to Marche. Marche spared him a smile, before glaring at the others.

"Aww, what'sa matter, Mewt? Don't have ya teddy today, so you need someone else to save you?" Lyle said, focused on Mewt. "Like the new kid would do that." Smirking, he reached past Marche to shove Mewt. The shock in his eyes when Marche grabbed his arm was priceless.

Meeting the bully's eyes, he said, "Leave him alone." It felt oddly satisfying, even if he did feel guilty to be the bully

Lyle yelled, "Let go of me!" and quickly pulled away. All guilty thoughts vanished when something wet hit Marche's head, knocking him into Mewt.

"Pshh, come on Lyle, you got stopped by that little girl?" Colin said, another snowball already in his hand. Pushing his cowlick back up, Marche turned to see the guy had thrown a purple scarf over his orange sweater, attempting to stand tall on a snow-covered bench. "He can't even take one snowball!"

"And what is that supposed to mean, huh?" Marche watched the color drain from Colin's face as Ritz stomped over. Scrambling to join Lyle and Guinness, he tried, unsuccessfully, in Marche's opinion, to look confident.

Fists held at her sides, Ritz stopped right in front of Colin. She said, "I know 'little girls' who can kick your butt, Colin Harving! Like your own sister!" Laughter erupted from the others as Colin's face turned beet-red. "And since you and your cronies need a lesson, why don't I switch with you Lyle?" Ritz added. She turned to Colin, giving her patented "just-argue-with-me" glare.

Marche usually didn't like bullying, but when it came to Colin's gang, he'd gladly make an exception. Ritz had seemed way more aggressive about it then usual, though. He wondered if she was angry about Mewt, or maybe..."Hmm?" Ritz was looking at him.

"Marche? Hello? Anyone there?" Ritz was waving a gloved hand in front of his face. Seeing him nod, she asked, "You said it didn't really snow where you came from, right?" Nodding again, Ritz said, "Okay, I'll show you how to make the perfect snowball."

She took up some snow, slowly forming it into her hands, but then stopped. She turned to Lana and said, "Hey Lana, can you get Mewt? I wanna crush those jerks, and he's going to help."

As he copied her movements, Marche asked, "What's up with them? " He got a blank stare in response, so he jerked his head in Lyle's direction. "When I first came, the three of them usually just interrupted class. Why the sudden bullying spree?"

"Oh, that? Apparently, their dads' all made donations to the school. Big ones. Which means they've got free reign as long as the school doesn't catch on fire." She said. "They usually just call names outside of school, but lately they've had it out for Mewt..." Trailing off, she glanced at Marche's snowball. Surprised, she grinned. "Hey, not too bad! Now if you can throw it-"

"Hey Ritz, we're ready when you are!" Colin called out, confident once more. He stood on top of one of the snow-covered pedestals dotting the yard. "Hope you're ready to eat the ice!"

"It's snow, Colin. Are you failing english and science?" Ritz responded, not bothering to look at the boy. Seeing Lana dragging Mewt through the snow, Ritz got up, motioning for Marche to follow.

"Okay, this might be just a snowball fight, but I want to win this, got it? So here's what we'll do: Marche and Lana will stay behind the pillars at the entrance, while Mewt and I hide near the slide and-" Hearing snorting, Ritz stopped. "And what is so funny?"

"Please," Lana scoffed, "You know how this'll end. Mewt'll just run around hiding while the rest of us play, and the terrible trio will chase him." Noticing the glares from Marche and Ritz, Lana crossed her arms and looked away, muttering, "It's true..."

"Okay everyone! The snowball match is about to begin!" Mr. Lelaie shouted, getting everyone's attention. He'd gotten a megaphone from somewhere, and was standing a safe distance away from the 'battlefield,' as he'd called it. "This match will be team Colin versus team Ritz."

"Look, it doesn't matter." Ritz said, ignoring Lana's sighs. "I want Colin covered in snow by the end of this, and I don't care who does it. Now, positions!"

Dashing to his spot with Lana, Marche could feel excitement building up despite the cold.

"Five..."

"Come on Mewt! We have to move." Ritz said. Mewt let out a squeak as she tugged him with her.

"Four..."

"Guinness, did you get it ready?" Colin asked, making another snowball.

"Three..."

Looking over to the slide, Lana sighed in annoyance. Mewt looked ready to bolt.

"Two..."

"The dweb looks like someone bopped him in the nose." Colin sniggered. Glancing at Mewt, Lyle and Guinness broke out into laughter.

"One..."

Taking a slow breath, Marche looked over the schoolyard once more. His eyes widened when he saw Mewt dashing around, Ritz shouting at him to come back to the slide.

"Begin!"

Dashing out, Marche scooped up some snow, trying to form a snowball. Mewt was just a few feet away,so then he'd be able to do something to cover them both. At least, Marche hoped so. He heard shouts all around him, Ritz stepping out to chuck a ball at someone, other projectiles raining down around Marche, one or two grazing him. He tossed his own handful of snow behind him, not caring if it hit anyone. Mewt had disappeared underneath one of the bushes near the building, causing it to shake and tremble.

Sliding next to him, Marche reached out his hand. "Come on! You can't just hide." Mewt refused to move, muttering something about Colin, Marche couldn't tell. Glancing back to the others, Marche's face met a snowball. Sputtering, he wiped his eyes to see Lyle rearing for another throw, when Ritz ran in between them and chucked her own snowball. Lyle dodged, but it gave Marche enough time to ready his own projectile. Running towards the slide, he threw it at Lyle, smirking when he heard a satisfying slop sound. _"At least we're keeping up in points."_ He thought, preparing another projectile.

Getting behind the cover of the slide, Marche checked on the rest of the field. Lana hadn't moved from behind the pillars, deciding she was safer pelting Colin and Guinness from there. The two boys had tried edging around her, when Ritz hopped over the pile of snow giving them cover, and with one kick, toppled it onto them. "Gotta do better than that boys." She said, jogging over to a giggling Lana.

Laughing at the sputtering bullies, Marche noticed the other girl, Mary, had gone up to Mr. Leslaie and was talking with him. Gathering up another snowball, Marche wondered what she was up to. Feeling a tug on his arm, he whirled around to see a snow-covered Mewt.

"S-sorry about freaking out." He muttered, looking at the slide. Marche thought his voice sounded weird. Not sad, or scared, but something else.

Patting Mewt's shoulder, Marche said, "Don't worry about it. We're going to win, and you'll help."

Marche could have sworn Mewt looked hopeful for a moment, but then the light drained from his eyes and Mewt turned away. "Sure. Like that'll-watch out!"

Pulled down by Mewt, Marche let out a loud yelp as snow flew over him. Scrambling to their feet, the two saw Lyle jump out of the nearby bushes, snowball in hand. "Run!"The pair tried to get closer to Ritz and Lana, who had made a base at the pillars.

"Where do you think you're going, dweb?" Colin said. He and Guinness stood in front of the escaping boys, a snowball in each hand. Marche looked behind, hoping to see another way around, but Lyle was right there, grinning like mad.

"Get 'em!" Colin shouted, and then the snowballs were in the air. Acting on instinct, Marche dropped down, pulling Mewt with him.

"Ouch!" Mewt shouted. Looking at him, Marche saw a bunch of snow falling off Mewt's forehead. Wondering why Mewt's eyes were tightly shut, Marche wiped the snow away, but froze when he saw red on his glove.

Mewt was bleeding.

Marche looked closer at the ground beneath them, and saw a stone poking out of the ground. Glaring at the smug faces above them, Marche's fists balled up. "What the heck is wrong with you guys? Who chucks rocks at people?" He shouted.

They didn't answer, just continued laughing, even as Marche got up and started walking towards them. Guinness was the only one who looked worried, and he turned to run. "How would you like it if someone did that to you, huh?" Marche shouted.

Stopping his laughter, Colin scoffed, "Please, like this even matters. The whole point of this was just to play a snowball fight, right? So what if one accidently had a rock in it? Mewt probably just sucked so much the snow made him bleed!"

"That was no accident, and you know it, jerk!" Marche shouted. Lyle and Colin both glared in response.

"I think your mouth is a bit to free, don't ya think new kid?" Lyle said. Making another snowball, he smirked. "I think you need to be cut down a peg."

"And you two are going do it?" Marche shot back. "You didn't even say the threat correctly. It's 'knock you down a peg,' and I don't even know what you butchered for your first insult."

As he watched Lyle pull his arm back to throw the snow, Marche ignored how badly this plan of his was going to be. _"__The kid asked for it_," He reasoned_, __"__And besides, he attacked first.__"_

He felt the snow hit him, and waited. The two bullies laughed. "Guess you were just talk, huh, new kid." Lyle said. He gave Colin a high-five. "What a dweb, even fixin' my grammar. No wonder Mewt sticks to you, it's the only way he can pass class!"

He stayed silent, which seemed to annoy them both. Just as Colin reached for more snow, Marche shoulder tackled him. Ignoring the shouts of surprise from the purple-scarfed boy, he turned to deal with Lyle when a scream rang out. Marche looked around to see Guinness clutching his nose and moaning. Ritz stood above him, fist pulled back. "Say it again, you pig!"

"Ritz Maulher! Step back from that boy, or so help me you will be expelled!" Mr. Leslaie screeched, grabbing everyone's attention. The teacher was fuming, an angry looking Mary marching alongside him. Mr. Leslaie turned to Marche. "And you Marche! How will you explain this?"

"Mr. Leslaie, he was going to punch me next!" Lyle cried out. Marche was stunned. He was actually crying? "He just attacked us for throwing a snowball! I thought this was supposed to be fun."

His mind blanking out, Marche pointed back to Mewt, who was staring at them. "Mr. Leslaie, Mewt is bleeding."

Mary's smirk dropped into small 'o' when the teacher moved over to Mewt and wiped his forehead. "It's just a scratch, but Mewt, how did this happen?"

"O-one of the sn-snowballs had a rock in it. Colin's, I think." He looked into Mr. Leslaie's face, his eyes tinged red. "Please don't punish Marche and Ritz. They were only trying to protect me from more rocks."

Marche hadn't realized he'd held his breath until the fog appeared in front of him. The trio of bullies, two of whom had been crying, suddenly leapt up. "He's lying!" Guinness said, blood staining his orange scarf. "Ritz just attacked me for no reason!"

Mr. Leslaie ignored them, instead turning to the crowd of students who had surrounded the scene. "I'm very sorry, but the rest of the matches are canceled. Get home safe, and happy holidays to you all."

"Not you three." He said. Marche chuckled despite himself, the look of fear in those bullies eyes was wonderful to watch. "You three will be coming with me to the principal. I do not think he will enjoy your explanation for why a rock was in your snowballs, do you?"

Mary stomped her foot, sinking it into the snow. "And what about them, huh? They assaulted-"

Smiling coldly, Mr. Leslaie turned to her. "Why, Ms. Iller, do you mean to explain why talking about mathematics the day before a vacation was so important? Especially when you could have been playing as well? If so, you may come as well." She shook her head, backing away. "No? A shame. The rest of you may leave."

Marche stood there, watching as Mr. Leslaie led the boys back into the building. "What just happened?"

Ritz stepped next to him. "I think we just got out of some big trouble, that's what."

"Y-eah." Marche turned around. Mewt was rubbing his forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." He sneezed, looking oddly at the two of them. "But...why did you do that? You could have gotten in a lot of trouble!"

Surprised, Marche didn't answer. Ritz apparently could though, planting her feet in front of Mewt and glaring at him. "We were just defending you. What if we hadn't done anything, huh? They would have thrown more rocks at you, or worse, and you know it!"

Mewt deflated. "Yeah, I know…"

"Hey, it's okay." Marche put an arm around Mewt. "We knew what we were doing, even if Ritz got a bit carried away." He glanced up to see her blushing. "Why did you punch Guinness anyway? You might have broken his nose."

Ritz fidgeted, curling strands of hair around her fingers. "It doesn't matter, the brat had it coming. And I wouldn't talk, that tackle definitely left some bruises on Colin."

Marche raised his hands and backed away. "Okay, I gotcha. No more questions...well, except one. You two want to come over to my house today?"

Mewt looked surprised, but Ritz made a face. "I don't know Marche, I wouldn't want to get home late."

"Well, my house is near the shopping center, it shouldn't be too far from your place. Besides, do you have anything better planned?" Marche said. A blush crept to his face, and he scratched his head. "And besides, you guys are the only two I ever really talk to. It'd be nice to hang out some more."

A smile rose to Ritz's face. "Can't argue with that."

"I'd love to come!" Mewt said. "But, can we stop by the bookstore? I saw an interesting book there yesterday, and I want to pick it up."

"Sure, lead the way." Marche said.

Grabbing their bags, the trio walked off the school grounds and into town.

* * *

"And that's how I won the championship." Ritz finished saying, her head held high. Marche and Mewt clapped as she bowed.

The boys had listened as Ritz recounted a particularly amazing tournament match against a neighboring school. As the trio walked through the commercial district of town, frantic shoppers rushed about them, in and out of every store along the street. It always saddened Mewt to walk around the stores during Christmastime, but Ritz had distracted him from the candy-cane lights and flowered wreathes with her stories. But even that couldn't stop the memories from rising…

Shaking his head, Mewt instead wondered why Marche had invited him over as well. Ritz, he could understand, but him? He's just a boring boy with a stutter around bullies. Marche had stood up to them though, and even fought them! A thought struck him. "Hey Marche, where do you come from anyway?"

His friend looked surprised. "I never told you?" Mewt (_"__And Ritz,__"_ Mewt noticed) shook his head. "I'm from Georgia. A small town along the border, Hendrick. And there was snow there, Ritz, just never enough to play with. It usually would melt by morning." He went silent suddenly, an odd look on his face.

Mewt wanted to ask more, but the sight in front of them make him stop and groan._"__Not again. He said he__'__d stop that crap.__"_

Just across the street a middle-aged man with a pointed beard bowed his head towards two men in suits. Mewt didn't care about the suits, he only had eyes for the man in jeans and a sweater. _"__Pathetic. He__'__s bowing his head at them like some kid__.__"_

"Mewt? You know that guy?" Marche asked, grabbing Mewt's attention. Ritz hadn't said anything, only looking at him with pity. Mewt slowly nodded, groaning again as the man noticed them and walked over once the suits were gone.

"Hey Mewt!" The man said, his voice annoyingly cheery. "What'cha doing out here? Hanging out with some friends?"

Mewt stared at the man for a moment, then a thin smile formed on his lips. "Yeah dad. We were just going to the bookstore for something."

Mewt almost gagged when they greeted his father. The man had actually waved their greeting's away. "No, no, Cid is fine. No Mr. Randall for me. Makes me feel old. Just keep my son out of trouble, okay? I'll see you at home, 'k Mewt?"

Stiffly nodding, Mewt felt his shoulders droop. Tonight would be excuse after excuse again...and after all the work he'd done to stop this drinking problem...

"Err, Mewt?" Ritz said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You alright?"

Mewt nodded, not wanting to answer the coming questions. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, look! The library's right there. Wait just a second." He dashed into the store before they could say another word.

Slamming the door behind him, Mewt sighed. Marche didn't know, he was sure of it. But Ritz did, and would probably tell him_. __"__I hope he doesn__'__t try apologizing to me, I__'__ve had enough of that since Mom died. Then again, it__'__s better then bullying__…"_

Peeling himself off the door, Mewt looked around the room. Everything seemed dustier then last week. Many of the shelves were emptied, and boxes sat in their place. Even the sales counter was blocked off, although books were still displayed under it; Including the one Mewt had come for. There it sat, the bright greens and yellows rendering all other books dull in comparison. Embedded in the center of the cover was a blue gem the size of an eye, gleaming in Mewt's eyes.

"Who slammed that door? I paid good money for it, and I won't be the paying for it's replacement if it's broken!" A high-pitched voice called out. Glancing between the shelves, Mewt saw an old lady in a frazzled fur coat stomp toward him. The scowl on her face vanished upon seeing him. "Ah, Mewt! I see you came after all."

"Of course, Ms. Anushka. And I brought the money this time." Mewt said, grimacing when the lady hugged him. "It was forty dollars, right?"

She pursed her large lips. "Actually my dear, why don't I give it to you? As a parting gift you see."

"R-really? Are you sure?" Mewt looked around the store, and realized what she meant. "You're moving? But wouldn't you need the money?"

Mewt felt a shiver as he realized the coughing noise she made was actually laughter. "My dear, I don't need money where I'm going. Besides, this book is worth much more then forty dollars." Unlocking the display case, she waved her hand. "Take the Gran Grimoire, and enjoy it as much as I have over the years."

Grabbing the book, Mewt ran his hand over it. "The Gran Grimoire...Thanks again Ms...Anushka?"

He was alone. Clutching his book, Mewt glanced between the shelves. "Ms. Anushka?"

Something farther inside the building groaned. Mewt decided he'd take her advice and dashed out of the store.

* * *

"Come on Mewt. Just one peek?" Ritz said.

Mewt clutched his bag to his chest. "Nope. Not until we get to Marche's place."

Ritz sighed. "It's just a boring book, Mewt. It's not like we can all read it."

"Oh yeah? If it's so boring, why do you want to read it, huh?"

"Guys? We're here." Marche interrupted. Ritz looked at his house. A yellow roof, dull white walls, and only one window on the front side greeted her. There wasn't even a little pathway like the neighboring houses, just some stairs from the sidewalk up to the door. _"__Next time, they__'__re coming to my place.__"_ She thought, following the boys.

Opening the door, Marche said, "Mom! Doned! I'm home!"

The trio heard a crash. "Mom?" Marche shouted, dashing into the house. Ritz took off after him, horrified.

Tripping over Marche's discarded knapsack, Ritz fell into Marche. He had stopped to look into a nearby room. "Mom?" He said, rushing in.

Getting a clear view, Ritz wondered how Marche's family could stomach eating here. The walls were a dull grey, although she guessed they'd been some other color at some time. The stove was burnt, and the one flame on was currently flickering on and off. Looking down, Ritz gasped. Marche's mother lay on the floor, surrounded by pots and pans. Rushing over, Ritz helped Marche get the woman to her feet, Marche yelling at her the entire time. "You know better then to carry so many at once! Why'd you even get so many? What if you had hurt yourself? And where's Doned?"

"Oh, stop worrying, Marche. Doned is upstairs in the bedroom. I'm fine, I just slipped. " She said, dusting her pants off. Looking up, she frowned. "And you two are...?"

Ritz glanced behind to see Mewt. Grabbing his arm, she said, "Slow down boy, Marche's mother is okay." Smiling to the woman, Ritz offered her hand. "Ritz Mauhler. Mewt and I are friends of Marche."

"Ah. Nice to meet you. I'm Mrs. Radiuju." She said, her frown softening as she shook her hand. "Well, I am glad to see that Marche has made some friends around town. Although it would have been nice to know company was on its way." She added, glaring at Marche.

"Sorry, but it was the last day of school, and," Marche sighed. "And I thought Doned would like to meet some new people."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you!" She said, suddenly smiling at the three of them. "Stay as long as you like you two. I'll just be down here, cooking dinner, okay?"

Ritz smiled again, giving Marche a questioning look once her back turned. He shrugged before walking out of the kitchen. Glancing at Mewt, she sighed. The guy was staring in confusion at Mrs. Radiuju. "Come on Mewt." She said, ignoring his protests at getting tugged along.

Following Marche around the house, Ritz realized just how poor her friend was. The walls were bare. She could see paint chippings hidden in corners, and she could have sworn she heard something running in the ceiling. She wondered how his mother even afforded this place, if this was how it looked.

"Sorry about my mom. She's been working a lot recently, so she's tired." Marche said, waiting at the corner for them, his blue coat lying on a table nearby. His plain white shirt and jeans stood out against the brown of the wall behind him.

Ritz followed suit, throwing her own coat alongside it. "Don't worry about it. Everyone's parents are a little crazy. Right, Mewt?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I suppose so." Mewt said, looking around. Ritz wondered what he was looking for. "Is it okay for us just to leave our coats out here?" He asked. "I mean, won't your mom get annoyed?"

Leading them further down the hallway, Marche answered, "No. Right now, she'd probably invite you two to dinner and ask if you'd come again soon." Stopping at the last door, Marche turned around and looked both of them in the eyes. "Sorry if I didn't mention it, but my brother Doned is gonna be with us. I apologize in advance for his attitude, but be patient with him, please?" Noticing their confused looks, he continued. "Doned is, well he's-"

"-a cripple." A young voice finished. Looking past Marche, Ritz realized just why the house had one floor. A young boy, seated in a wheelchair, was looking at them. His hair was a dark red, and small freckles were under his eyes. He wore a plain looking shirt and jeans, but what horrified Ritz were the metal clamps keeping his legs to the chair. The boy rolled his eyes at Marche. "No need to sugarcoat it, Marche. That's what I am." Looking past him, the boy addressed Mewt and Ritz. "Who are you two?"

"A c-couple of friends." Mewt said. "Marche invited us over to hang out."

"My brother actually invited people over?" The kid laughed shortly, turning his chair around. "Huh. Maybe this weather really will be good for me."

Shrugging in apology, Marche followed his brother in. "Sorry for the mess, but we just got all Doned's stuff back from the hospital, so there's boxes everywhere."

Ritz thought she'd stepped into a different house. Instead of the dirt brown of the hallway, the bedroom was a bright yellow, with posters of shows and games hanging over one bed. Some drawers were tucked next to one bed, and a small collection of books was piled next to the other. In one corner of the room sat a couple of desks, with a calendar above them. A metal furnace with a dented teapot on top rested in the other. Across from the beds lay a small television with a skateboard lying against it. Marche had moved a few of the boxes into the center of the room and sat on one, his brother next to him.

"So Doned, how was the hospital?" Ritz asked, copying Marche and taking a box-seat. She dropped her bag behind her, before turning back to the chair-bound kid.

Doned yawned. "Sooooo boring. Father Michael visited a couple of times, but other then him it's been mind-numbing."

"Father Michael? You mean the old priest across town?" Ritz asked. Across from her, Marche groaned.

Doned nodded. "Yeah, he visited me every day. Even tried to play a videogame with me once." He laughed softly, then turned to Marche. "Oh yeah, he asked if we'd be coming to church Christmas Eve."

Marche groaned again, but glanced at Ritz before saying, "We'll talk to Mom about it, okay?"

_"Not my place to question."_ Ritz thought. Aloud, she said, "So could you go outside at the hospital? I know they have a wonderful garden to walk through there."

"No, the nurses said the snow would give a me a cold." Doned leaned back into his chair. "I don't know what they're so worried about, it's just some white stuff, but whatevers...hey, uh..."

"Oh, we didn't introduce ourselves, huh?" Ritz said, "I'm Ritz, and shy-guy over here is Mewt."

Doned nodded, and pointed at Mewt, who had frowned at her nickname for him. "Okay, Mewt. Today was the last day of classes, right? So, did you guys play in the snow?"

"Uh, y-yeah, we did." Mewt said, suddenly looking everywhere but at Ritz and Marche. "They organized a snowball fight for us, and-"

"And we almost won too!" Ritz cut in, "You know, your brother is really good in a snowball fight, Doned. I never would have guessed he's never even seen snow before!"

Doned stared at her, eyes wide open in shock. He opened his mouth slowly, then closed it the same speed. Ritz wondered if some medicine had kicked in, when the kid broke out into laughter. Gasping for air, Doned said, "Oh...m..my bro...brother? Good at something athletic? That's a good one!" Doned couldn't get anything else out, falling back into his chair, laughing.

"I'm sure he's not that bad." Ritz said, giggling hesitantly. Curiosity growing as Doned kept laughing, she looked at Marche. "Are you, Marche?"

He actually blushed! "Err, well, I mean..."

"Seeing that Doned is practically falling out of his chair right now, I'm guessing he is, in fact, that bad Ritz." Mewt said, a small smile on his face.

"Come on now, don't you gang up on me too, Mewt!" Marche cried out, finally finding his voice as Ritz broke out in laughter. He shook his head, drawing out a sigh. "First my brother, now my friends. Who next, my mother?"

Ritz could hear Mewt try to apologize, but the image of Marche failing to skateboard jumped to mind, and she broke down into more laughter.

She calmed down in time to hear Marche chuckling. "I set myself up for it by inviting Blabber-Mouth over."

"Hey!" Ritz shouted. "It's Ms. Blabber-Mouth to you, and don't you forget it!"

"Oh, I'm sure we won't." Marche said, holding back his own laughter. He turned to Mewt. "So where's this book you were talking about?"

"Oh, right!" Mewt jumped up, running to his bag. Ritz watched as he pulled out a huge, colorful book with a bright gem on it. "When I first saw this grimoire, that's what the lady at the store called it, it just called out to me. I mean, look at it! Who knows what's inside!"

"Wait, you mean you don't know?" Ritz said. "Like, not even the genre? Do you even know what it's called?"

"Err..." Mewt blushed, cradling the grimoire in his hands. "Not exactly. It's...not even in english, actually." Ritz groaned and he added, "B-but not even the lady knew what it was called! She gave it her own title, the Gran Grimoire."

"Gran Grimoire, huh? So, what language is it in?" Marche asked.

Sitting down, Mewt placed the book in the center of their circle. "I'm not sure. I meant to check it out tonight, but since you asked me over, I was wondering if maybe one of you knew." Flicking open a hidden lock, Mewt turned open to the first few pages.

"I certainly can't tell." Marche said. "How 'bout you Ritz?"

"No idea. It could be Latin I suppose, but that's just a guess." She said, running her fingers over it. The pages felt smooth under her fingers, but they looked as if they should have crumbled apart years ago.

"Well, why are we wasting time looking the boring stuff? Let's open it up!" Doned said, eyes wide with excitement.

With a quiet reverence, Mewt turned the pages slowly for them all to see. Yellowing with age, the pages were covered in the same foreign language as the prologue. Sometimes sketches and drawings of monstrous beasts and foreign beings filled them instead, and each one seemed familiar to Ritz. Dragons and goblins, magic and swords; every image reminded her of something. She wondered if the others thought so too.

As they turned to the center pages, the words gave way to a painting taking up both sides of the book. On the left page, a soldier with pale, purple armor stood, an army charging behind him. Men and woman alike, as well as some very odd looking creatures, were a part of the army. Some had swords, others spears or daggers. Above one dark robed warrior, Ritz could make out fire flowing from their hand. She grinned, the person could have been a black mage. On the right, a figure in orange mirrored the soldier, and his own army rose up. In the center, just above the clashing armies, were a five crystals. Pale light seemed to flow out of them, coating those below in their light. She ran her hand over one, the bright yellow, captivated by the intricate patterns. Her friends sat in silence, just as entranced as she.

"Is that a giant rabbit?" Doned asked, breaking the silence.

"I...I think it is." His brother answered. "And I think that's a walking lizard next to it."

"Just what is this?" Ritz muttered. "It's like an encyclopedia on fantasy."

"If only we could read it." Mewt whispered, staring in awe at the image.

They fell into silence once more, letting the pictures rest in sight for a few moments before moving on.

Suddenly, Doned slapped a hand down on a page. "Wait!"

"Yes, Doned?" Marche asked, looking over to him.

"What if...this is a magic book?" Doned said, a mischievous smirk on his face. "You know, filled with spells and stuff."

"Don't be ridiculous." Marche replied. "You're just saying that because you want to fly."

Ritz laughed at the adorable pout on Doned's face. "Well Marche, if your brother wants to fly, what would you want the magic to do?"

"Not you too Ritz!" He cried out. "But if I have too..."

"Wish you'd actually be able to skateboard!" Doned cried out. "Or at least get some balance."

"Hey!"

Giggling at Marche's excuses, Ritz smiled at him. "When the weather gets warmer, we could all go to the park you know. I'm sure Doned here would love to see me train you."

"Oh, I'm sure." Marche said. He grinned, adding, "But that's only if I fall."

Ritz smirked. "I think you will." Doned broke out laughing again, and she joined him.

"You say something, Mewt?" Marche asked, flustered at the laughter.

Ritz turned to see Mewt concentrating on the book again. "Oh, I was just reading one of the lines. Here, look."

"That's odd, the ink is different here." Marche said, "And what's with all these shapes?"

"Let me see." Ritz said, turning the book to face her. The lines in question were circles and triangles around some other, unknown language. They seemed familiar though. "Weird, these look like they were added in later on. And the words don't seem to be in the same language as the rest of the book."

"So what? It's not like that means anything." Doned said, sounding bored. "It probably was written in by whoever owned it last."

"Yeah, but this looks like...almost like Greek, or maybe Arabic." Ritz muttered. Twirling a strand of hair, she made a mental note to ask Mewt about it tomorrow. "I've got no idea what it could mean though. And why write it a book you planned to sell?"

"Maybe they wanted to add to the story." Doned huffed. So this was what Marche had meant about 'attitude.' "Come on, who cares? Why don't we play a game?"

"What, like 'Final Fantasy?' Doned, we can't all play that." Marche scoffed. "Besides, Ritz probably doesn't even like video games."

"Hey! Are you saying that because I'm a girl?" She shouted. The nerve! Do all guys think girls played dress-up or something? "I'll have you know I actually do play Final Fantasy."

"Really? Me too!" Mewt said. "I always love pretending I'm out adventuring with Vaan or Zidane, saving the world and fighting monsters."

"Same here! Wow, you guys have magic books and play Final Fantasy? Marche, where have they been all my life?" Doned asked, a dreamy look on his face.

"Not in la-la land with you, that's for sure." he replied, shaking his head. "Although, after all those tests, an adventure would be fun."

"Swords and spells, out in the wilderness with just your friends for company. Sounds like the perfect getaway..." Ritz said. She shook her head. _"__If only, huh?__"_

"You alright, Ritz?" Marche asked as Doned wheeled toward Mewt. "You sound down."

"What? Oh no! I'm perfectly fine, I've just been stressed out. You know, school and everything." She said, smiling at him.

"Oh, believe me, I know." He said. Why was he fidgeting? "Just, you know, I-er, we are your friends. If something's wrong, we're here for you, you know?"

She couldn't help it, she giggled. "Aww, thanks Marche. But I'm fine, okay?" He nodded slowly. Ritz hoped he hadn't been insulted, it meant a lot that he'd even said that. Although, now she caught herself staring into his blue eyes and looked away. First time over, and already having awkward staring sessions. At least Mewt and Doned hadn't noticed.

A thought struck her. "Hey Marche, are you going anywhere for Christmas?"

"Hmm? No, we're just staying home." He said, all smiles again. "You?"

"I think so. Dad wants to go out to my cousin's place. They live in New York, and it's so cool there. We went for New Year's last year, and I got to explore their neighborhood and try the bakeries." She said. She giggled at the memory. "My mom was so angry when we got back, but dad told me he was glad I'd had fun. Unfortunately, I think we're going to my grandmother's for Christmas."

Eyes drifting to her bag, she noticed her phone peeking out. "6:02," She read, and her eyes widened.. "Oh, shoot, I need to get home!" Grabbing her bag, she rushed to the door. _"__Time just flies when you__'__re having fun, huh?__"_ She thought, waiting for Marche and Mewt get up.

"Same here. I probably should have been home half an hour ago." Mewt said, closing his book. "Thanks for inviting us over, Marche. And great meeting you, Doned. I'll play with you next time, okay?"

"Yeah, it was really nice meeting you! Hope you can play in the snow soon!" Ritz added, smiling at the boy. She wanted to cry when he smiled back, it looked so forced on him now.

"Hey, I'll walk you guys out." Marche said, walking over to her. "I'll be right back Doned."

"'K. Bye!" Doned called out, watching as they left the room. When the door closed, he let out a sigh. He wheeled himself to the window and pulled himself up to look out. He saw snow falling along the street. Ritz and Mewt were walking away, and Doned saw a few teenagers running by. Even when his mom called for him, he just sat there, watching the world outside. "Magic...if only."

* * *

Darkness had fallen on the town. Only the yellow glow of lamps remained for those wandering the streets. Like and old group of carolers, singing out joy on their latest evening together. They passed by the closed shopping center, the playground, and the church.

They sung by the low-town, staying a while as the normally isolated families gathered near to listen. A couple of adolescents joined alongside them, and stayed the rest of the night singing. Marche and Doned heard them from their room, the final sounds in their ears as they bid the world good night.

They moved through the high-town, gathering around doors when asked, and singing alongside the families inside. Ritz went out with them for a while until being called back inside.

Late into the night, the group converged by the central plaza, right around the fountain. Mewt watched through his window and watched as the group continued to sing.

_"Everyone one of them can go home, knowing Christmas is just around the corner."_ He thought. His hand formed a fist, and he punched the book in his hands. _"But not me. Dad'll probably get drunk again. Maybe he won't even come back home..."_

Mewt lifted the teddy bear next to him and looked once more at the book in his hands. The cover felt inviting, promising him a journey to a new land with just a flick of his fligers. He moved to open it, to see the sights inside, but stopped. _"Just another cruel joke. A whole world to see, and I can't understand it."_ With that thought, he threw the grimoire onto his bed. Mewt turned away, watching the snowfall outside.

"Magic...that would fix this mess, huh?" He whispered, resting his head against the glass. "But even that can't bring her back..."

The book landed cover down, bouncing up slightly. If Mewt had turned around, he might have seen the book open all on its own. If he listened, he might have heard the pages turning, ever increasing.

As it was, he didn't even turn before a bright light exploded outward, engulfing the room.

* * *

**Hello everybody, and welcome to my latest story, a novelization of Final Fantasy Tactics Advance! This was one of my favorite games on the GBA, and I've come to realize that it has a lot of potential for good writing. Icey the Fox's story "Casualties" may have inspired me as well (Go read it if you'd like! He did a fantastic job!). So as a novelization, I plan on keeping everyone's perspective throughout the story, and adding my own little bits as well. Due to the nature of the beast, there will be OC's. They will be awesome, but not in the overpowered, story stealing way. They'll be there doing what they're supposed to do: add to the plot without stealing the show.**

**Updates will be sporadic. Honestly, this is a huge project, one that I've had in my mind since the past summer, and it will probably take me a while to complete. I may take breaks, but I'll work every day on it. If you have any comments, complaints, requests, etc, send me a PM and I'll be happy to respond. See you soon!**


	2. Chapter 2: Awakening Anew

Chapter 2: Awakening Anew

_I don't dream. Mewt lectured me once about how we dream constantly and gave tons of explanations, but I didn't believe him. Well, I did, but I just didn't think it applied to me._

_Of course, closing my eyes in my bedroom, then opening them and seeing an office instead killed that theory. _

_I'd heard that what happened in dreams couldn't be controlled, so I waited. And waited. Bored, and now thinking I'd been lied to this whole time, I looked around the room. It reminded me of a medieval castle. Giant stone blocks that seemed to shine made up the walls and floor. Or was that marble? Yeah, definitely marble. One of the walls had been knocked out though, leaving three pillars holding up the ceiling. Pale blue curtains swayed from an invisible breeze. The opposite wall had two bookshelves covering the wall. A mirror was held in between them, revealing a man with striking blue eyes staring at me. Blonde hair fell on armored shoulders and a scar ran along his cheek. The silver armor he wore only accented his strength. I flinched, unsettled by the way he stared at me. Wait, he moved back too. _

_I raised my hand, and so did the man. __**"Right, only my reflection."**__ I chuckled. Maybe this was how I secretly wanted to look? I guess a dream could do that. Might be all those fantasy books I've read...It would explain the sword at my hip. I pulled the weapon out. It slid easily, and fit in my hand pefectly. It felt amazing. Must've been around four feet long, but I could swing it easily. How did the light catch on the blade like that? And that gem at the hilt! Heck, it even had my name embedded on the blade. "Marche Radiuju," in short, fancy script. This thing must cost a fortune._

_I sheathed the weapon and turned to my left. A desk and chair were just a few feet away. Some papers were stacked on the desk, but that didn't freeze me in place. The helmet did though. Two horns rose from the top, curled around themselves in a forward spiral. That was enough for me to falter, if but for a moment._

_I felt drawn to it. It seemed important, and reminded me of something from home. Something Doned had mentioned once...a symbol of power? I'm sure whoever wore this was powerful. And famous. Kings wore helmets like this, right? _

_When had I put it in my hands? Why not put it on? It was obviously mine. I saw myself on a throne, regal armor shining in an imaginary sun. But kings in armor normally don't get elected, do they? History's proven only war and death and murder get them there. A rattling caught my attention, and I realized I was shaking. __**"No, not me."**_

_I hurled that priceless helmet to the floor. It shattered on impact, pieces flying everywhere. All thoughts of kings vanished, replaced by…disbelief?_

_I noticed a door across the room, but before I took a step toward it, I felt everything shaking. I stepped back and felt nothing but empty air. Bright light blinded me, and then I felt myself falling..._

* * *

_Fallingfallingfallingcrapcrapcrap-_

"Aaaaaaaahhhh!" Marche screamed. He bolted to his feet, a hand on his chest. His voice faltered at the sight in front of him. His house didn't have stone walls. Looking around, he realized he wasn't even in a house.

"What the heck? Is this another dream?" Marche scratched his head. "Is that possible?"

It couldn't be real. No place in St. Ivalice had alleys filled with grass. And it was the middle of winter at home! Not this…spring weather? Summer? Whatever the season, Marche felt himself relax as a warm breeze went by.

Leaning against the wall, Marche laughed. _"Well, if it is another dream, hopefully this one won't end with falling." _

He looked down at himself. Yep, back to his normal body. He didn't recognize the clothes though. He wore a blue, short-sleeved shirt and brick colored shorts. He could feel padding underneath the shirt, and pulling it up, chain mail and a brown undershirt under above that. His feet were itching, probably due to the socks, and- "Steel toed shoes?"

Marche kicked the wall. A clear 'tink' noise resounded, and he shook his head. _"Out of all of this, that has got to be the weirdest."_

He had another sword as well, not nearly as fancy as the other one. Just a few feet of steel and a scratched up pommel. _"I don't actually know how to fight with this..but this is a dream right? So why not dream I know?" _He thought, swinging the blade around.

He posed in what he hoped was a starting position, both hands on the grip, his eyes focused on an imaginary foe. Eyes narrowed, he stabbed forward. Not pausing, he ducked a swing, then slashed forward. The walls around him faded from his sight as he focused solely on his phantom foe. As he twirled around another strike, he started laughing. It felt exhilarating! He imagined a second foe, shorter then him, and his body moved before he could even tell it to.

He would have kept fighting his phantom foes, but as he stepped forward for a finishing strike, he tripped over a rock. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he grunted on impact. He lay there, his adrenaline drained. _"Okay, so that was cool."_

Getting up, Marche sheathed his sword and dusted himself off. He paused, feeling something in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out a small sack, no larger than a small rock and not much heavier. Inside were dozens of golden coins, the light shimmering off them.

"_So, I can somehow swordfight, and have a ton of money. Can this dream get any better?"_ Marche stared at his sudden fortune for a moment longer before returning it to his pocket. When he woke up, he was going to be so disappointed. But for now, he decided to keep exploring this new dream.

He walked out of the alley and realized his dream had given everyone new clothing. People walked by in silks, leather, armor…and all had weapons! As he stared at a particularly huge sword carried around by an otherwise friendly looking man, Marche thought, _"Is my mind trying to tell me something? Maybe that I'd look good in leather while I decapitated someone? Geez."_

The sight of the odd crowd suddenly vanished, replaced by a mob of people rushing around him. Marche found himself carried away with them and unable to push back, he resigned himself to not getting stepped on. When the mob dispersed, he looked around, and realized going with the flow wasn't a bad idea.

It reminded him of a bazaar. Stalls and tables of every size, as far as he could see, which admittedly wasn't far. But in sight was a bustling crowd filling out the plaza where, at the very edge of his vision, water shot into the sky. Marche laughed and dived into the chaos. This dream was getting better and better!

The first merchants he passed by disappointed him; they only sold food, and it wasn't even different! Just fruit basket after colorful fruit basket. Not feeling hungry, Marche walked on. The crowd filled the entire path now, and now they were shouting. Ducking under the arm of a black robed man, Marche grinned. _"Of course, weapons."_

And there were a lot of weapons. Swords, daggers, axes, hammers, staves…the list went on and on! Each merchant had their own gimmick too. One bare chested man was showing off, swinging his blades in intricate patterns as the crowd "Oow'd" and "Aww'd." Another was actually melding armor as another merchant took orders.

Finally breaking through the mob, Marche glanced around. For a dream, everything was so real. Even the canines on that furry merchant over there look authentic. Marche's jaw dropped. That merchant really did have a snout, and long, drooping ears covered in fur to match!

"_Well, I do like dogs."_ Marche thought, staring as the creature sold a staff to a white-robed girl. _"I guess dreams about dog people wouldn't be too crazy." _

"Hey boy! Come over here!" Oh, the dog-man was staring at him, waving his hands (or were they paws?). He waved them again. "Yes, you in the blue!"

He walked over, and the creature began rummaging through a box. "You look like a smart lad." The creature smiled at him, revealing an unwanted display of decaying teeth. Quickly looking away, Marche saw what he'd pulled up: a small bottle of some green liquid.

"Ever been on your last legs?" The dog-merchant dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned toward Marche. "Not a healer to be found, and everyone's out to get you? Well, I can guarantee, this elixir here will be your savior."

"Err, I don't know." Marche said. He couldn't take his eyes away from the huge ears dangling off the creature. "I really don't have much."

Noticing his gaze, the creature smirked at Marche. "What, never seen a nu mou before, kid?" He laughed, tossing the miracle potion between his hands. "We are the masters of magic, you know. But even we need a pick-me-up, and this bottle can do it for anyone and everyone."

He leaned in again, pale green eyes sparkling. "So how about it? Only twenty-thousand gil!"

Retreating a step, Marche shook his head. "Uh, I don't have that kind of money."

The nu mou (_Where have I heard it before?)_, tossed the elixir into a nearby bag. "Well, if you ever change your mind, just ask around for Gillis! Of course, come too late, and there won't be an elixir to buy."

Nodding, Marche walked away. _"Did my mind just try to con me?"_ He wondered, dodging around a particularly 'large' nu mou. _"Although, a magic potion would be something dream-like. Maybe I could have bought it. I should've asked how much 'gil' I had."_

So absorbed in his thoughts, Marche didn't notice he'd run into someone until he fell back from the impact. "I'm so sorry, that was my..."

The rest of his apology ended in a mumble as Marche looked up, up, up to a lizard-like human glaring down at him. He was at least six feet tall, and covered in tiny, dull brown scales. It wore a pair of threadbare shorts and chain mail over a red shirt. His outfit did little to hide the bulging biceps and triceps and all the other –ceps on him. A part of Marche's mind noticed the sword at the creature's waist, but then it opened its mouth, snout, whatever, and spoke.

"Watch where yer going, boy." It's voice sent shivers down Marche's spine. Raspy and deep, it fit the creature too well for his liking. The pointed teeth sent him over the edge, and Marche opened his mouth on reflex.

"A-a talking lizard!" The dull annoyance in the creature's eyes vanished, replaced with shock. _"Maybe…that wasn't the best thing to shout."_ Marche reflected as the creature looked him over.

"What'd ya ssay, ya brat? Ssupposse you want a fight, eh?" It sounded like a growl, and the creature gripped his sword.

Marche shook his head and backed away. "No, no, I'm not looking for anything like that."

The lack of noise around worried him, and he risked looking away from the increasingly angry lizard. The nearby shoppers had vanished, and even the stalls were devoid of their merchants. _"Just my luck, my own dream gets insulted and leaves me to die."_

The lizard had pulled out its sword and began rummaging through its pockets. Marche took the chance to pull his own sword out and calm himself. _"It's just a dream. If I do die, I'll probably just wake up."_ He reasoned. _"And besides, I kinda know how to fight. Maybe I'll even win!"_

Just as the bangaa pulled his arm out of his pocket, a voice called out. "There you are kupo! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Both would-be-combatants turned to the speaker: a three-foot-tall stuffed animal. At least, that's what it looked like. It wore a bright green shirt and brown pants over light, cream colored fur. A patch of yellow-orange hair stuck out between two huge, brown-tipped bunny ears, and it had bat-like wings on its back. A small ball bounced along behind it, which after a moment Marche realized was connected to the creature's head. It twirled a wooden rod in one hand as it stepped between Marche and the lizard, and another wave of familiarity hit Marche.

The lizard growled at the newcomer. "You know thiss hume, moogle?"

"_Moogle? Wait, seriously?"_ Marche stared at the little guy in front of him. He held back a laugh. _"Doned is going to love this! A dream with his favorite video game characters. Although, it looks different from the ones in the games."_ He winced; the moogle's voice had jumped an octave. _"And apparently this one hit puberty, if that's anything to go by."_

He looked back to the lizard, looking it over more closely. _"Then that must be a bangaa. Guess my subconscious likes those games too."_

"Kupo? Kupo!" The moogle snapped his furry fingers. "Apologize to the bangaa, kupo."

Annoyed, Marche bowed his head. "I'm very sorry for insulting you, sir, as well as running into you. Forgive me."

No response. Marche risked a glance at the moogle, but he had already started walking away. The moogle motioned for him to follow, but before he even stepped, the bangaa grunted. "Now wait jusst a minute, boy."

"Yes?" He faced the creature, ignoring the pit opening in his stomach. The bangaa's smile reminded him of a cat. _"And what do cats just love?" _

"Yer a ssoldier, aren't ya. Why not have match?" He said. Marche stifled a laugh. The bangaa actually posed, finger pointed and everything! This dream could not get crazier!

"He's not serious, is he?" No answer. Marche turned to see the moogle nodding its head.

"Kupo, why not a two on two?" The bangaa nodded and began shouting for someone. Marche just stared at the moogle, who noticed Marche's surprise and shrugged. "What? It's just a quick fight kupo."

"Sure, quick for them. I can't fight two guys at once, let alone two bangaas!" Marche said. "How are you supposed to-wait." Rods, what type of person used rods in those games...

The moogle sniffed. "I'm trained in black magic, kupo. **Payos**." A cold breeze hit Marche, and the grass around them was suddenly a clear blue. "See kupo?"

Marche kneeled down and snapped one of the blades. It began melting in his hand, the grass inside limp. "Oh, that is just awesome! Best dream ever."

"Hey! You two ready?" The bangaa shouted. Marche ignored the odd look on the moogle's face and turned to see the other opponent. Another bangaa, a head shorter then the first was with him, and he didn't have a weapon. He wouldn't need one though, what with all the muscle on him. He didn't even have armor though, only a small orange vest and shorts. He looked bored, like he'd been dragged there.

Marche looked around. There were stalls close on the left and right, but nobody in them still. _"Well, those'll probably break."_ He thought. Drawing his sword, Marche nodded at the bangaas.

The sword wielder grinned and raised an object above his head. "To battle!"

A flash of light blinded Marche momentarily, and suddenly a giant yellow chicken-thing was standing between him and the bangaas. The word 'chocobo' came to mind. Riding the bird was someone covered from head to toe in shiny grey armor.

Marche shivered at the sight of them. That armor looked similar to what he'd wore in his other dream. The knight looked over all of four combatants, and spoke.

"This shall be an engagement between two members of clan Stone and the unaffiliated Marche Radiuji and Montblanc Lambert." Mache blinked. How'd he know their names?

The mysterious knight continued, "Today's laws to be enforced are as follows-"

"Yeah, yeah, we all know them, Verax. Let'sss get sstarted already!" The armored bangaa said. He kept bouncing up and down, like a kid in a toy store. The chocobo glared at the bangaa, but the knight Verax nodded. With a kick of his heels, the chocobo hopped on top of a nearby stall.

Verax raised a gloved fist, a white light shining around it. "Let the battle commence!" He said, and suddenly he vanished.

The armored bangaa growled. "Leave the rat to me, Terin. You handle the furball."

Montblanc squeaked at the name and retorted, but Marche was too focused on the approaching bangaa to care. It couldn't be much different from before, right? Just now, there was a real blade coming for his neck. The sunlight shone off the bangaa's blade, and he felt his breathing speed up. _"Just a dream."_

His eyes widened, and Marche jumped to the left. The bangaa's sword nicked his shoulder as he charged by. Marche refused to cry out, and swung at the bangaa on reflex. He heard a cracking noise, and then his vision filled with stars.

He raised a trembling hand to his nose. Blood? He shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. The bangaa was clutching his right arm, which hung uselessly at his side. But Marche could only stare at his eyes. Pure rage, directed solely at him. He roared, a deep, guttural sound, and charged again.

Marche froze in place, terror holding him still. Pain flared in his arm, and he started moving on impulse, his sword catching the berserk bangaa's at the guard. He dodged the incoming fist and ducked under the bangaa's arm. He sliced between the armor and pants, and tried rolling. The bangaa caught his foot and slammed him into a nearby stall. He gasped for breath, unable to move. The bangaa dropped his sword and leapt at him.

He raised his blade, and then the bangaa tried biting his face. Marche felt hot breathe on his face, and squeezed his eyes shut. But the expected teeth never reached him, and peeking open one eye, he saw the bangaa's glazed eyes staring back. Something warm was dripping over his hands.

He lay there, straining to breath under the weight of the bangaa. _"I just killed someone. Ijustkilledijustohshitoshit-" _He was hyperventalaiting, his eyes locked on the bangaa's. "_This is just a dream."_ He repeated it to himself, his personal mantra until his breathing slowed and he couldn't hear his heartbeat. It didn't stop the bile from rising in his throat, but he regained his composure. He heaved the body off and lay there a moment longer. For a dream, that near death experience sure felt real. He forced himself up, frowning at the blood on his hands. He wiped them and turned to the body.

The bangaa didn't seem different. It was like it had-_he_ had fallen asleep, if someone could fall asleep with their eyes wide open and a sword in their chest. Ignoring his disgust, Marche tugged the blade out. Slick blood, still warm, ran down most of the blade. He shuddered and turned around. The only thing to greet him was a passing dandelion on the warm breeze.

He scratched his head. "Uh, hello? Montblanc? Other bangaa guy? Anybody-Ow!" He yelped, slapping his arm. It felt like someone had thrown a softball at him, but the only thing around was a silver card lying in the grass. Picking it up, he turned it in his hand. One side had that creepy helmet on it, but the other showed two swords crossed. He pocketed it.

Where could the other two be? Did it even matter? Marche hadn't even wanted to fight. He looked back the way he'd came. It'd be easy to walk away, say his nose had been broken by the nearby fighters. No need to...to kill anyone else. _"But it's not killing. It's a dream."_ It sounded hollow, even to him. Would a dream have gone on this long? Maybe he shouldn't tell Doned about this…

He glanced toward the nearby stall. Someone had just screamed, and he could hear the sound of fire. Marche took a step back-

And was hit by a flaming bangaa. The two fell to the ground, the bangaa rolling off of him in one fluid motion, already patting the fire out. Marche gasped at the rush of pain.

"Great, you can help me with that damn moogle Feld, ya asss. What took you sso long with the brat?" The bangaa froze when his eyes met Marche's.

"Is this where I say something witty?" Marche said. He could barely hear himself, but the bangaa, he, well, he started...hacking? No, laughter, just really dry.

He crouched down and patted Marche's head. "Ssoundss like it, boy." His smile creeped Marche out. Then the patting hand gripped his jaw. "But ah guesss ya missed yer chance."

He heard a crack, then everything went dark.

* * *

**Hello everyone, I finally got a round to getting this chapter up. Sorry it took so long, I wanted to get Marche's reactions believable and he would not co-operate. ****Anyway, don't worry about how this chapter is just about Marche, I'll be switching up the viewpoint character periodically. I also plan on showing off Mewt and Ritz's beginnings in Ivalice, but how I do so will remain a secret. For now at least.**

**I hope you enjoyed this (short) chapter, and let me know if any errors stood out! **


	3. Chapter 3: Meet the Family

Chapter 3: Meet the Family

The scent of apples filled the air. He smiled. Mom hadn't made apple pie in years. There was never enough time, or more important things to buy...but he hadn't seen any apples in the kitchen yesterday. Had she gone to the store? Maybe he had slept in late? Mom was gonna kill him.

Good mood gone, Marche started to get up when he felt his bed. Why'd his bed have dirt in it? A cold feeling rose in his chest, and he warily opened his eyes.

Clipped grass greeted his view, and as he looked up, flowers of all sorts waved to him. He recognized a few; some rose bushes, a bed of daises, even a row of sunflowers, but the rest were as foreign as the clothes he was wearing.

Wide-awake now, his jaw dropped. This was the dream. How could he still be dreaming? The last thing he remembered was a broken nose and that bangaa grabbing his head, then darkness. But...those bangaa. He'd kill them too. Were they alive, or...he swallowed and tried to ignore the dread he felt.

He caught a whiff of the apples again and he looked for the source. It came from an open window, the bottom floor window of a two-story mansion to be exact. He could barely hear laughter from inside, and then a door to the house opened, revealing a human like rabbit walking toward him.

"Oh! You're awake!" The bunny cried out. Marche bolted to his feet and she stopped a few feet away. "Woah, calm down! No one's gonna hurt you, except maybe Montblanc for the heart attack you gave him."

He blinked. "Y-you know Montblanc?"

She nodded. "He got me and Luke when you wouldn't wake up." She giggled. "And let me tell you, he wouldn't stop pestering Luke once we got you here. Said something about how you had needed help."

"Montblanc did that? But I just met him today…" He mumbled.

Marche looked at the bunny girl more closely. She was taller than him, and her thin, brown-furred body only accented it. Long silver hair flowed down to her knees, and he could see small flowers peeking between braids. She wore a bright yellow mini-skirt, and when Marche looked higher, a matching top. A very revealing yellow top. He blushed. "And where is here, exactly?"

She didn't answer, instead yawning deeply. Her body arched in a not so subtle way, and Marche felt his cheeks heating up. "Luke's house." She answered lazily. She paused at his blushing then smiled widely. "Come on! Anna just finished baking, and you must be starving!" She grabbed his arm before he could answer.

As they approached the house, Marche kept going over his last moments. He had died! If this wasn't a dream, how was he still here? And what about his family and friends? Were they here too, or was he alone in this crazy place?

He couldn't recognize the girl's race, but it was probably another one from Doned's games. "Hey, umm..."

"Rona. Rona Eld." She flashed him a smile and opened the door. "Come on, Luke can't wait to meet you! He's been looking for another soldier to train with."

"Train with? What for?" He cried out, but she had already vanished into the house. It gave him to time to think. The moogle was obviously trying to help, and Rona seemed nice. He shrugged and walked in. _"Not like I have anywhere else to go."_

The passage reminded Marche of a medieval dungeon. Unlit torches were spaced along the walls, and every door had an iron emblem embedded on it. As he walked down, Marche examined the long tapestries along the hall. Some showed kings, others displayed great feasts, but the last and largest grabbed Marche's attention. From each end of the faded silk charged an enormous army of mystical creatures. One side was led by a knight in purple-ish armor, while the other was led by a fierce looking nu mou, the mace he wielded glowing with a dark energy. The colors had faded, but the detail in each object captured Marche's attention. Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall what it reminded him of.

Following the apple scent and noise, Marche found the others. Rona sat at the main table, laughing with Montblanc as a grinning human woman arm wrestled a boy. From the sweat pouring off the boy's face, the girl was winning. The aromatic apple pie was on the windowsill nearby, and beside it was a nu mou in white robes. Her fur was a pale lavender, and a single silver hoop hung from each long ear. Green eyes met his as he entered and she smiled sweetly.

"Ah, I see our patient found his way. You've been out for four hours, how are you doing? Any pain or soreness?" He shook his head, and she glanced at Montblanc. "Aren't you going to introduce us all to the poor boy? You only stole him off the streets!"

"Yes, yes kupo." The moogle fluttered onto the table, careful to avoid the two humans' match. Waving a paw at the nu mou, he said, "May I introduce the ever-mothering Elthia Intican, the kupo-ist white mage in town. You already know Rona, but Luke also helped bring you here, kupo. And this is his sister, Anna, baker of the extra-ordinariest pies ever." The moogle looked dreamily toward the captivating creation and the human girl giggled just as she slammed Luke's hand down.

"I wouldnt go that far Monty, but thanks anyway." She got up and looked Marche over. She was taller than him, though shorter than Rona, and her bare arms revealed lean muscle. Like Rona, she wore a top and bottom that would excite any teenage boy, but the sharp look in her eyes threatened something much less enjoyable. He kept his eyes on hers, and prayed he hadn't blushed. She shook her head. "Ole Feld must be losing his touch. Have you even lifted a sword before?"

Not waiting for an answer, she walked past him. "I'll be back in a few guys. Luke, tell mom when she gets home, k'?"

"Just don't come home poisoned by your own blade again." Luke said. His eyes widened, and he faced Marche. "You heard nothing."

Before he could question what he had even heard, Montblanc fluttered onto Luke's head. "Kupo, he's not gonna tell anyone secrets." He looked up to Marche. "Right kupo?"

Marche nodded. "Believe me, I wouldn't. Your sister looks like she'd get to me first." Luke nodded and seemed to relax slightly. "By the way, thank you all for helping me. None of you even know who I am."

"Like we'd leave someone to die."Elthia snorted as she took a seat across from him. "Which reminds me, here." She took a small green orb the size of a marble out of her robes and rolled it over. Marche picked it up slowly, and she explained, "I suppose a traveler like yourself wouldn't recognize that. It's a remedy, or as most people call it, a cure-all. Just swallow it, and any ailements that might be in you will vanish."

He quickly complied. It broke apart in his mouth, releasing some foul tasting liquid. Coughing a bit, he asked, "I was poisoned? I thought I had my neck broken."

Montblanc spoke up from the window. "Kupo, you did. The cure-all's just because you didn't wake up after the fight. I thought you had gone in already dying!"

"Why? Would it matter? I already came back from the dead."

They went silent. Montblanc and Elthia stared, Rona's jaw had formed an 'o,' and Luke had stopped in the middle of slicing the pie. Marche squirmed under their looks and chuckled uncomfortably. "Eh-hehe…I'll take that as a yes then."

Luke placed the knife down and groaned. "If you tell us you have amnesia, I will kick you out."

"Luke, it doesn't have to be amnesia. Maybe he never learned about the specifics. Not everyone has a master fighter for parents, remember?" Rona said, an annoyed expression on her face. Luke flinched and went back to cutting.

"Kupo, you really don't know why?" Montblanc asked. Marche nodded. "Well, when a judge lays out the arena for an engagement, he makes sure any injuries are reversed after, kupo. But if you had been stabbed before he was summoned, you'd still have a wound."

"Oh." He should have guessed it'd have to do with magic. "So what's stopping them from doing so?"

Silence. Then Elthia looked at him curiously. "I suppose it'd be due to the limitations of judge magic. When the judge appears, they immediately cast a spell over the battlefield, centered around the combatants. From research and a bit of guessing, I believe it holds the combatants' souls in the area, and as well as restores their bodies after the battle." She looked out the window and played with one of her earrings. "As for why they don't heal or revive outside of a battle…that's due to laws and personal morality. And perhaps the gods, if they exist."

At his confused look, Montblanc spoke up. "Kupo, I said Elthia's a white mage. So she can heal, defend, and even revive someone from death." He laughed at his wide eyes. "Don't think it's all that, kupo. I tried to heal a cut once and ended up gasping for breath after. And I left a scar too. Even basic healing spells take a lot of energy, and some are harder to cast then black magic!"

"Correct, Montblanc." Elthia turned back to Marche solemly. "My dear, learning the way of a white mage is a way of life. Just understand that under no circumstances, none whatsoever, let anyone revive someone outside of battle, especially if they've been dead for a while. They…" She frowned, tugging on her earring again. "They don't come back right. At that point, the mage is called a necromancer, since they've controlled the dead."

Marche nodded, overwhelmed by the information. Perhaps Doned would understand this better. Or Mewt, or Ritz, really any of his friends. Thankfully, the conversation lightened up once Luke and Rona brought over the pie, now sliced for everyone. Rona boasted about her archery skills and argued with Luke over the practicality of her outfit when fighting. Elthia questioned Montblanc on his magic training, and Marche quickly blocked them out as they started speaking nonsense.

Not wanting to intrude on Luke and Rona, he examined around the room. It was in good condition, although after looking closer he realized most of the objects were new. The wooden chairs and table weren't even worn, and the tiles on the floor looked newly placed. How did this place have tiles from his world? What else could this crazy place have that they shouldn't? Refrigerators? Planes?

Luke grunted, and Marche glanced at him. The boy, well, teenager, looked around his own age, if a bit more built. He wore the same style shirt that Marche did, although his was red and made of finer material. It was tucked into leather...britches? Breeches? He couldn't remember what they were called. The boy grunted again, and Marche realized Luke wanted his attention.

The red-haired teen wiped his mouth carefully before he spoke. "So, what business do you have in Cyril?"

Marche inwardly cringed; he didn't have a story for that. He quickly took another bite of pie to think. He didn't know other towns, and next to nothing about the area…and he couldn't lie to save his life. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm not from here."

"…and? What are you doing in town?" Luke waved his hand toward the window. "Were you passing through? Picking up supplies? Meeting family or friends?"

"The last one." Marche smiled in thanks as Rona took his now-empty plate away and added. "Of course, for all I know I'm the only one in this world."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "'This world?' You do mean 'this city,' correct?"

"No, I meant world. Because as far as I know Elthia, Montblanc, and Rona should not exist. Bangaas should not exist. Magic doesn't exist. I should be back in St. Ivalice, waking up on vacation, not in this-this fantasy!" His last words were a shout, and he realized he had stood up. The group was staring at him in varying degrees on shock at his outburst. Well too bad for them.

Suddenly, Elthia pointed a staff at him and said, "Sanare." Green mist poured out of the staff and settled around Marche. He quickly started coughing on the sickly sweet gas.

"That should have cured him of any tampering." The nu mou said, settling back into her seat.

"What tampering? You just did magic on me again, how do I know you aren't doing something to me, like changing my memories or poisoning me or-"

Montblanc jumped onto the table. "Kupo, calm down!"

Marche barely heard him. "And what if I'm stuck here? Am I going to walk out of town and get attacked by zombies and dragons too?"

"Yes, kupo!" The moogle shouted, loud enough to rattle the plates next to him. "But all this panicking won't help you, kupo. If you want to do anything about your situation, sit down."

Marche stared at the moogle. He hesitated then he asked, "You believe me?" It came out as a whisper.

The moogle nodded. "Sit down, kupo, and we'll help as much as we can."

Marche complied, facing the group. Montblanc looked sympathetic, as did Elthia, but Rona looked confused and Luke had turned his back on them all.

The moogle sat down next to a slice of pie and as he nibbled on a piece, asked, "What do you remember about this St. Ivalice, kupo? You said it doesn't have magic, right?"

He nodded. "The closest thing would be machines and electricity I guess."

"But we have electricity!" Rona interrupted. "Or at least, spells that shoot lightning, right?"

Elthia nodded, not looking up from her lap. "Yes dear, but I don't think that's what Marche meant." Scowling, she lifted a notebook to the table and crossed something out. "Can you describe these machines Marche?"

For a while he did. It was funny to watch them become surprised at the mere mention of refrigeration, although Elthia was disappointed when he said he didn't know how they were made. Even Luke asked some questions as he washed the dishes.

"Kupo, one more thing." Montblanc said, as Marche finished explaining a television. "You said that the three of us, Rona and Elthia and I, aren't real. Why, kupo?"

"Well, the closest I ever saw to you guys was in a video game. Err, think moving pictures controlled by someone. My brother was always playing them, and I remember seeing all of you except Rona in it."

He chuckled as the girl's ears drooped. "No viera, huh? No fair."

"So now that I answered your questions, can I ask some?" Marche asked. Montblanc nodded and Marche sighed. "Hoo boy, where to start..." He actually couldn't think of where to begin, so he asked the first question that came to mind. "Why do you always say 'kupo?'"

Nobody answered. Montblanc, Luke and Elthia stared at him in confusion, while Rona's jaw had dropped. "Uh, guys?"

"You say you're from totally different world, and the first question you ask is, 'Why does the small, anthropomorphic rabbit-slash-bat have a verbal tic?'" Luke asked, regaining his voice first. Marche nodded slowly and Luke snorted. Then he broke down in complete laughter. The rest soon followed and after a moment, Marche joined them in the silly moment.

After they all calmed down the group began explaining the world to him. As he absorbed the information, Marche felt like he was with friends.

* * *

Montblanc sighed. By the time the four of them had explained Ivalice to Marche, the sun had set and Luke's parents had returned. Luke's brother was still with the mayor, and Anna was...somewhere. Both Mr. and Mrs. Harkold were tired, but they had allowed Marche to sleep in Marcus' room after a quick talk. Montblanc had led the overwhelmed teenager to the room and then ran to his own bedroom to think.

A whole different world with no magic or adventure. It didn't sound familiar to any myths or legends he'd learned here in Cyril. None of the stories his teacher had told him mentioned anything of the sort either. But Marche seemed to know a little about this world. The teen had described a chocobo and goblin accurately enough, although he had seen the judge's chocobo earlier. Dumb luck maybe?

Hoping to distract himself, the young moogle glanced around. Some old spellbooks lay in the corners, and a collection of writings by his teacher on proper black magic pronunciations were open on his desk. The moogle scrunched up his nose at the sight. Those readings would take ages! Besides, Elthia had already tested him today and would probably tell his master about it.

He frowned. No, Elthia's husband was his teacher. His master…the moogle glanced back at the desk and sighed. All this talk of worlds reminded Montblanc of his own dilemma. Before he could stop himself, the moogle had hoped off his bed and walked under his desk. Muttering a word, he heated his hand and melted the ice underneath it, catching the notebook frozen inside. He hopped onto the chair and opened his secret.

A picture of his siblings were on the first page, with their master standing behind them. The page after had one of just Montblanc with his master, as he knew it would. He had memorized every single page in this notebook, but looking through it always brought worry alongside the nostalgia. Where was his family? Were they alright? Had they made a place for themselves, or were they dead and buried? No, they couldn't be. He'd know, somehow. Right?

Someone knocked on the door and he let out a squeak. "Just a sec, kupo!"

Refreezing the notebook, Montblanc hopped over to the door and, after a flap of his wings, pulled the handle down to reveal Anna. She looked exhausted, but still managed to keep her hair in that weird bun of hers. She grinned down at him. "Hey Monty!"

"Hi kupo! Did you just get back?" She nodded, following him into the room. He fluttered onto his desk and rested against the wall as she flipped through one of his spell books. "You didn't kill anyone, did you kupo?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. I already reached my quota for the week." If he didn't know her better, Montblanc would have believed her. She peered over the book at him. "In fact, I was searching for info on our out of shape soldier. Did you know, not a single guard remembered seeing someone like him enter the city?"

He rolled his eyes. "Kupo, you know that hundreds of people walk into Cyril every day. Besides, I wouldn't let you slit his throat after I had him saved."

She pouted. "But that's my favorite." Becoming serious, she added, "But really, you have to admit it's odd. The kid's wearing a pretty standout shirt, something that shade of blue's pretty memorable."

He sighed. She wouldn't stop bugging him until he fessed up. "Kupo, he isn't from this world. The last time he saw a chocobo was in a video-something or other." She blinked and rested her head in her hand.

"Huh." She eyed him. "And you all believed him?"

"Yes kupo. Elthia and Rona did too. Luke seemed skeptical, he wasn't as serious with answering questions."

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose Marche'll just have to convince him then, although how my brother doesn't is beyond me." She giggled at his surprised look. "What? The kid looked ready to bolt the moment he saw everyone. And I stuck around a bit before I left. He's a crap liar, so he tried dodging my kid-brother's question."

"But kupo, it's just so hard to believe. A world without magic? No monsters? No clans?"

"Monty, there's always monsters." Anna waved at herself. "I'm sure where ever the kid's from, there's people just like me, and worse ones."

"I suppose, kupo." Montblanc sighed. "But if he is stuck, how will he survive? You said it yourself, he's never wielded a sword before today. And once I told him how magic works, he moaned about being back in kupo school."

"Hmm, good point. Learning pure magic would be difficult for him, but maybe blade techniques would work. At the very least he could make some money and set up shop, or maybe join a clan." She leaned back in her seat. "How 'bout having Marcus train him. My brother might not be happy with another thing on his plate, but he can't say no when I offer-" She cut herself off, chuckling as she got up. "Well, you don't need to know that Monty. Get some rest, I'll talk with the kid."

As she walked out, she added, "Heck, after Marcus's is done with him, maybe you'll get that clan you always wanted."

* * *

Marche woke up and took a deep breath.

This wasn't some sort of dream. He wasn't back home. He was in Ivalice. Was there a way back? Was he the only one here? How had he gotten here? He counted to ten before releasing the breath. Falling back into his pillow, he considered the other side of his situation. What was the good side? He could hold himself in a fight, although the little time he'd spent last night trying to shadow fight hadn't gone nearly as well. He still had that bag full of gold coins too and now some people he could call friends. So, some pluses.

Good and bad down, but what would he do now? Anna's suggestion wasn't a bad idea. Train under a recognized swordsman, join a clan and become rich and famous. Also known as, forget about St. Ivalice and live out his life in this new world.

He looked out the window. The sun had just risen, and the glow radiating throughout the gardens put every flower on display. It was beautiful. If only Doned could see it. He loved little things like that. Thoughts of his brother and mother gave way to his friends, which made him start panicking again about never finding them…That's it! He'd make a clan, and he'd search for everyone. And if they were stuck here, he'd be able to help them too. And if not…he'd find a way home. This world held magic after all, there had to be some way to teleport a person.

Feeling better, Marche hopped off his bed and stretched. The room he'd been given was Luke's older brother's, and he had fallen asleep too fast to look around. He hadn't missed much. Plain walls stood behind bare wardrobes, and not a single picture was to be seen. Next to the bed was a desk, a snuffed candle on top of it.

Well, if there was nothing in plain sight, what about hidden things? He fell to the floor and peered underneath the bed. A dusty box met his gaze. He hesitated, but curiosity won out and he tugged it out. Wiping away the buildup, he saw the name Marcus etched in gold. The box itself was big, and upon opening it he realized why. The shield inside, if it was still worthy of the name, was longer than his forearm and not much shorter in width. Dents and bends decorated the metal front, and flipping over showed the other side had endured just as much abuse.

"What are you doing?" Startled, Marche dropped the shield, whirling around to see Luke frowning at him from the doorway. The teen wore a red leather tunic and shorts, but the silver dagger strapped to his waist caught his attention. The disgruntled teen walked over and picked the shield up. "You are a guest in my house, yet you go through my family's possessions as if they are your own."

Marche got up, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but I saw how bare the room was and figured someone hid something around the place. I apologize."

For a second, Marche thought he was going to get stabbed right there. Then Luke shook his head. "I suppose I'll accept your apology, though I'd rather not."

Marche frowned as he got up onto his bed. "And why's that? Expecting a fight from me?"

"Yes." He frowned at Marche's perplexed face. "Why, is that odd? I did insult your honor, and left you the perfect opportunity for a duel."

He was about to ask why, but then Rona's passing comment came to his mind. "Are you sure you are not the one searching for a duel?"

Startled, Luke stared at him. "Matues, why would I want that?" His eyes narrowed. "Rona said something, didn't she."

He shrugged. "I'm just saying so because you were so curious about my opinion on the fight, which still hasn't changed. I may have been exhilarated, but I was still scared for my life."

"Interesting." The teenager looked down at the shield, tracing out the dents and bruises with a finger. "After how boring you said your world was, I would have assumed you would find an engagement a refreshing change of pace."

Marche opened his mouth to say no, he didn't think so at all, but… "I guess, ignoring the fact that I died, and those two bangaa had died, it was…kinda fun."

Luke nodded and placed the shield back in its container. "Well, I suppose a truth for a truth would be fair. When Montblanc told us that you took on Feld on your own, I will admit, I was intrigued. Pardon me for saying so, but looking at you now, I can only assume it was beginner's luck."

"And because of that, you don't expect a challenge from me, huh?" Marche grinned at the teen and stood back up. "Well, if someone could call up one of those judges, we could test that."

Luke winced. "About that...Montblanc may have been a bit...overeager to win your fight. Your blade melted under a very intense fire spell. I imagine he will apologize at breakfast."

Marche stared at him, unsure of how to respond. "Oh, err, can I get another one somewhere?"

Luke grinned. "Yes. There's numerous armories and smiths in town, as I'm sure you saw yesterday. We'll be going shopping later, so I suggest wearing that chain mail you have."

"Do I have to? It smells really bad." Luke laughed as Marche scrunched his nose.

"Don't worry, we're all used to it. I'm sure you'll only take a month or two to be the same. For now though, I'll leave you to change."

Just as he reached the door though, Marche remembered something. "Hey Luke? I passed a really huge tapestry yesterday when Rona got me. There were two armies charging at one another. What's it about?"

"Oh that?" He kept walking until he was at the doorway then turned with a surprisingly serious face. "That displays the end of the world." He suddenly grinned. "What a way to go, eh?"

* * *

Luke led the four through town. Rather, he tried to lead. With Rona dashing ahead every street, it became more of a chase. Running to keep up with her, he glanced back at Montblanc and Marche.

The moogle's wings were flapping, but he could tell Montblanc would not be happy once they stopped. Marche was a little ahead of the moogle, and Luke wondered again if the boy had ever followed some exercise regime. His face was beet red, but he kept moving. Perhaps it had been cruel to make him wear his chainmail underneath his tunic. He shrugged, facing forward to keep track of Rona. If he didn't get into shape quick, he'd be useless in a clan.

He hadn't talked with Montblanc since yesterday, but already Luke could see the friendship between the moogle and Marche. Just how did the boy do it? Rona said she liked him as well. "He's nice enough, and he did apologize after yelling. Come on Luke. Don't be such a downer," She'd told him. His response that he didn't mind Marche caused her to roll her eyes before walking away. For such a simple girl, she managed confound him at every turn.

Slowing down, he made sure his followers saw where he was turning and moved. They had left the high class area of town and had passed through the gardens behind them to reach the smithies. It was said the walls were made of steel and ash here and from the black dust settling down on his tunic, Luke had to give the myth some truth.

It was still early in the day, but the smiths in town had already lit their furnaces. The roars could be heard throughout the entire street. Only one, however, also sent out the music of tempered steel. Luke shook his head with a smile as he walked into the offending shop. Tabris was probably working on his latest project.

Rona was already chatting with the owner, a Mr. Ichen Grandose. From his grunts and hand motions, he was probably describing the latest weapon someone had asked for.

The door behind him swung upon, and he turned in time to see Montblanc and Marche stumble in before falling to the ground. Marche glanced up at him with a look promising pain. He shrugged and pointed at Rona. It's not like he had decided to run here.

"Luke! Wonderful to sssee you again lad. I've got half of yer order all sset." Mr. Grandose said. Luke tried not to grin too widely as the bangaa looked at the fallen boys and laughed. "Montblanc too, eh? Finally come to yer ssenssess and want a real weapon?"

Picking himself off the floor, the moogle shuddered. "No way, kupo. I'll stick with my magic."

The bangaa shrugged. "Ah well, can't hurt ta ask. And whosse this youngin? New friend of yerss?"

"This is the boy I was telling you about Mr. Grandose." Rona said, waving a hand toward Marche. "May I introduce Marche Radiuji, the final piece in our future clan."

Luke resisted the urge to throttle the viera, and instead settled for a glare. When had they decided they'd make a clan, let alone force the strange boy in? Even if Marche was interested, at least ask him!

Mr. Grandose considered it, looking over Marche carefully. Finally, he grunted. "Well, he lookss like a twig. And where'ss thiss ssoldierss' weapon?"

Luke cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter. "That would be why we came here, sir. His last sword is currently a melted mess in the ground due to..." He eyed Montblanc, who had the decency to look guilty, before turning back to the grey snouted bangaa, "An incident. So we came here to pick him up a new blade."

The bangaa nodded and jerked his head at Marche. "Alright boy, you come with me and we'll ssee what you can actually pick up with those ssprite arms of yourss."

Muttering under his breath, Marche followed him past into the back room just as another bangaa with dark orange scales walked out. Luke could make out a frown at the sight of them all, but whether it was at how they were all laughing or because they were there at all, he couldn't tell. Probably both. He stood a good head taller than Luke and covered as he was in soot and ash, the shield he held shone with not an impurity on its silver front.

Catching his breath, Luke walked over to the towering bangaa. "Hello again Tabris. Working with opal, I see."

That brought a smile to the bangaa's face. "Yess, I've been working on thiss ssince lasst thurssday." He said, looking fondly at the shield. "Opal iss a different beasst compared to ssteel and mythril, but itss magical defensive propertiess are perfect for any warrior." He glanced past Luke and saw the others. "Did you all come for gear?"

Montblanc shook his head. "Nope, kupo. Just getting some for Marche." The moogle flapped himself to the nearby display rack and peered at the spears. "Think he could use one of these, kupo?"

Luke couldn't wait to hear that answer, but he was tugged back by Rona. She dragged him, flailing and kicking, behind the rows of armor on the other side of the shop. Regaining his balance, he looked up and frowned. "Rona, if you want some armor, you could just ask Tabris. He wouldn't say no."

She slapped her forehead, messing up her hair. "I don't want armor, stupid. I wanted to talk about stuff."

Pushing a lock of hair out of her face, he said. "Then go ahead, although why you didn't just say something earlier remains a mystery to me." Was she blushing?

She crossed her arms. "Oh really? Well then maybe I shouldn't tell you then."

He mirrored her and grinned. "Oh, I doubt that. Remember Montblanc's chocobo incident?"

"Hey, I didn't even tell you the entire thing! Just that he made a bit of a panic." She was laughing along with him despite her defensiveness. "Alright, but I actually wanted to ask you...would you want to make a clan together? You know, one day?"

Luke examined the armor nearby, hiding his sigh. Well, he had glared at her, so she would worry. It's not like he wasn't interested in clan life, far from it. But none of them were prepared for it, least of all their latest addition.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Luke? You okay?"

Faking a grin, he turned to her. "Of course I am. And to answer your question, one day. One day we can, but that won't be for a while. Not until you can actually use that bow of yours anyway."

"Hey!" Laughing, he dodged her punch and escaped back to the others, just as Marche was coming back. The blonde was holding a simple silver blade and a sheathe. He seemed to be panting, and Luke grinned. Old Grandose had put him through the usual tests.

Marche glanced at him and smiled despite his obvious discomfort. "Took a few, but this sword fight in my hand perfectly."

"Good, you'll need it for training tomorrow." Luke laughed as the boy's face fell. He stopped, curious, as Tabris approached Marche. Montblanc was sitting on his shoulder, yapping in his ear.

Marche turned and jumped back. "Oh! Uh, hello there." He sheathed the weapon and offered his hand. "Marche Radiuji. Nice to meet you..."

The bangaa eyed him, before actually putting out his own hand. "Tabrisss. Are you ssure you can usse that blade?" He seemed skeptical when Marche nodded, something Luke agreed with. "If you sssay sso."

He looked over at Luke, one ear flipped slightly. Luke shrugged, and said, "Hey, my brother is going to be holding a training session tomorrow. Interested in coming?"

The bangaa grinned widely. "You bet. Thiss time, he'll never see me coming."

"Oh, I doubt it kupo. Remember last time? I think the ground still has an imprint of your body." Laughing, Montblanc didn't notice Tabris glance at him. The laughter ended when his ride flicked him off his shoulder.

Luke hid a grin as he walked out of the shop, calling back, "See you tomorrow then. I'll tell Marcus to bring his good gear, just for you." He broke out into laughter as the young bangaa groaned.

* * *

The palace. Center of Ivalice's government, and thus the center of Ivalice, the palace rested upon a large island in Lake Moon. The lake was little more than a large moat around it, but nevertheless the name stuck.

But the palace itself was the focus, and all the artisans who worked on it made their marks over the years. Towering stone walls, enchanted fountains taking a myriad of shapes, color-changing stained glass, the amount of work put in was staggering. And as Mewt awoke to his third day in Ivalice, he smiled.

He rested in his bedchambers, dressed in fine green silk robes and lying on a queen sized mattress. And next to him lay an old green and yellow book with a blue gem embedded on its cover. Out the window, he could see the sun rising high in the sky, shining a bright light into his spacious room.

Two walls were covered by bookshelves, stacked to the ceiling with a seemingly infinite knowledge-and the royal library was even larger! A few of the books lay open on the desk nearby, although most of the space was taken by the pages and pages of notes written out over the past two days.

Hearing a familiar humming, Mewt rose out of bed and stumbled over to his armoire. Dozens of colorful shirts and pants met his eyes, and he grabbed a pair at random. Green shirt and white pants were fine, he supposed. Maybe tomorrow he would actually have time to sort through them all.

He had just thrown on his shoes when his caretaker walked in. Just as yesterday, Babus walked humming to himself and holding some papers. Mewt barely resisted the urge to hug the nu mou. His white fur was so soft and it reminded him of his stuffed bear, but Babus' was much better.

"Good morning, my prince. I trust your sleep was satisfying?" The purple nosed nu mou asked, laying out his papers on Mewt's desk. "Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I wished to go over your work for the day."

"Hello to you too Babus." Mewt said, resting his head in his hands across from him. "So what's the plan today? Explore secret passages in the palace? Train my own chocobo? Oh, how about learning some magic?"

Green eyes met his own, and he could make out an exasperated smile on Babus' face. "You are royalty, not an common clan member, Prince Mewt. Today, you are to learn proper court etiquette, followed by history and arithmetic lessons."

"Aww, but Babus, not even a little bit of magic?" The nu mou looked at the pouting royal's face and sighed.

"I suppose I can add in some magical history for the week." He finally relented. Despite his tone, Mewt could tell Babus would be more than happy to teach him.

Running around the table, Mewt hugged him tightly. "Thanks Babus! You're the best!" He said, before rushing out toward the dining hall, leaving the bemused nu mou behind.

From magical history, to magical theory, and soon he'd be learning how to cast it! This world is amazing! Mewt thought, running past a maid. He slowed down before a large pair of doors, making sure he looked presentable, and stepped inside. A humongous hall greeted his eyes with huge pillars rising up in symmetrical patterns down it all. Apparently this room was used for the balls and other functions hosted by the palaces, including engagements on more then one occasion. Usually though, it served as the dining hall.

The main table was folded up for just his family's use today. Father was already seated. His silver judge armor shone brightly, and Mewt almost laughed at the way his beard stuck out. But Mewt's attention shifted to the right, where a woman in a maroon dress sat talking. Deep blue pearls hung from her neck, and dark red hair flowed over them. Blue eyes looked up to see Mewt and the woman smiled.

"Good morning, Mewt. Coming to join your father and I for breakfast after all?" She asked. Beckoning toward a third seat, she added warmly, "Cook already prepared your favorite, chocobo egg and gysahl bread."

With a laugh, Mewt ran across the floor to join them. His father chuckled and began asking about what he planned to do today, but then Babus walked and soon the three adults began discussing some silly act a noble of Cyril had done.

Mewt didn't care. He was enjoying his wonderful breakfast with his living, breathing mother.

* * *

**Hello everyone! Here it is, chapter 3. I realize it's out far later then most would hope and I apologize. And with college starting soon, I'm unsure of how much time I can set aside for these stories of mine. I'll be trying though. Special thanks to Noyb and Dusk Mind for their reviews, I'm glad that you both enjoy this story.**

**So, what do you guys like so far? Is Marche what you'd expect? How about Montblanc or the others? Am I overly descriptive, or too little? I want to know so I can improve and write an even better story for you all. Thanks, and see you (relatively) soon!**


	4. Chapter 4: What Doesn't Kill You

**Chapter Four: What Doesn't Kill You...**

Elthia Intrica thoroughly enjoyed mornings. She might be described as a morning person by those who knew her. The one who'll wake up full of energy, make some breakfast for their family, cast a quick cure spell on their child who already bruised themselves falling out of bed and then goes to work. Today's morning, the fourteenth of Huntmoon, she was enjoying her morning walk, and more importantly, her day off.

This walk wasn't just a pleasurable shuffle through town, oh no. Montblanc had stopped by yesterday and asked if she could come by the training hall. He just said they were helping Marche, but she brought her cure staff just in case. Of course, Montblanc had also asked for training, so she'd brought her husband along as well. It made for a lovely time, actually being out of the house, although he seemed adamant in ruining the mood.

"Honestly dear, did we have to walk all the way to the hall? I could easily have borrowed Luis' old chocobo for the day." She knew her husband was joking. Renald's tail always swished when he fibbed and even without looking she knew a grin was plastered on his face. Old habits die hard, she supposed. "Besides, I was up late making more remedies for that Clan Marble. They had an order for over a hundred!"

With a smile, she patted his stomach. "Well dear, we could let the man sleep in a little. Besides, hasn't someone been promising they'd exercise more? Magic makes for a fit mind, but not a healthy body."

He tried holding a glare but quickly chuckled. "Alright, you win honey." He rolled his eyes at her grin and tapped the thunder rod in his hands. "Yes yes, you always win. But no matter what you say, I am not, repeat, not getting dragged into Marcus' training regime. I'd rather fight a bladebiter with just my fists."

They had just reached their destination on Renald's comment and Elthia sighed. "Now dear, it can't possibly be quite that-" She cut herself off as the doors to the hall blew open and a training dummy flew out, rolling up to their feet before stopping, the leather padding on its chest barely held together. As she saw Luke run out of the hall, she sighed. "Perhaps there is some truth to that dear."

"And don't you forget it!" He grinned at her, waving at the teen. "Hello Luke! I see Marcus hasn't lost his touch from standing around all day."

"Hello Mr. Intrican, Mrs. Intrican." The lad greeted them politely, bowing his head slightly. He wore his dark red mythril armor and she could see a yellow blade at his side. As he grabbed the dummy, he added, "I would highly doubt Marcus losing his touch Mr. Intrician. When my brother is not working, he's training-"

"-And if he isn't training he's working, right dear?" Luke nodded, grunting slightly as he lifted the dummy. Elthia shook her head and walked into the hall. "Please, don't say 'I-told-you-so' Renald. Otherwise, I will make you join them."

"Wouldn't say it for a million gil dear." Her husband swore, following Luke. "But just in case the boys do need you, I brought some extra ethers."

Perhaps it'd be wise to describe the training hall as not so much a hall as a large clearing toward the southern edge of town. Ever since a few feuding clans decided on war in the main training hall in Cyril, the governor (and through him, the crown) had decreed each clan would have their own, smaller training area. Since the building, and following destruction of the main training hall had cost so much, the city had decided to make the mini-halls cost efficient. Of course, to prevent accidents, they built up ten-foot tall walls of wood and had the city's best mages cast so many layers of protect and shell enchantments upon them not even a meteor spell could destroy them.

The magic around the hall always gave Elthia an itch, but she ignored it and nodded her head to past, present, and probably future patients of hers until she caught sight of Montblanc hopping up and down. Rona appeared to be fanning Marche, who was laying on the ground. Marcus, the gentleman that he was, didn't even show the glimmer of a smirk.

He wore his blue armor today, as well as a lionheart blade, his favored sword. It contrasted nicely with his reddish hair, though Elthia wished he'd shave the beard. It made him look so much older, and not in a good way. Besides, who'd ever heard of a red bearded paladin? He glanced up and, upon noticing her, bowed.

"Good day Mrs. Intrican. I hope that practice target didn't hit you or your husband. I was simply showing young Marche here just what he can achieve with proper training. Lad took a bit of a shock though." He finished with a shrug and stepped out of the way.

Renald grinned, peering over Marche with childish curiosity. "Oh, we were fine. So this is the boy you mentioned Elthia? Wonder if he's got magical talent." He glanced back at Marcus, his frown mirroring Elthia's. "And didn't we say to call us by our first names? You are twenty five now, not a child." As an afterthought, he added, "To other humes at least."

"Er, if you insist Renald." The young man answered. He glanced down at Marche and sighed. "Mrs I- Elthia, if you would be so kind."

"Of course dear." Shooing away her husband, she kneeled down next to the unconscious boy and whispered, "Vita medicore."

White light settled around the boy and a moment later Marche rose with a groan. "What on earth was…" He glanced up at Elthia and his eyes widened. "Elthia? When did you get here? How long was I out?"

"I only just arrived dear. And probably a few minutes at most. Up you go now." Giving him a hand, Marche rose to his feet. Turning to the others, she asked, "So now that everyone is here, may I ask that any fighting be done with a judge present? We only have so many ethers and I will not become a necromancer for anyone's sake. Don't snort Tabris, you're practicing with a greenhorn."

Marcus chuckled, drawing a judge point from the pouch at his side. "Well said Elthia, well said. Any suggestions for the judge?"

She stroked her ear in thought. "I haven't fought recently, but at the town tournament last Kingmoon that new judge, Cynthia, wasn't half bad. Renald?"

Her husband nodded. "Ah yes, one of the new ones picked by the prince himself, or so I heard. Yes, she would do just fine Marcus."

The paladin nodded, and raising his fist, crushed the card. "For this training, I ask Judge Cynthia to observe."

A bright light flashed, and next to Marcus stood a tall judge in grey armor. The horns on her helmet were not much larger than last time Elthia had seen the newly appointed judge, but she carried herself much more confidently, a gloved hand at hilt at her side and shield in hand. All in all, a respectable figure.

"This session of training practice will be taking place between Marche Radiuju, Luke Harkold, Tabris Grandose, and Marcus Harkold. Elthia Intrician will be spectating and healing as required, while Montblanc Lambert and Renald Intrician train in black magic a safe distance away. Rona Eld will be training off to the side in archery." Marcus nodded as she finished, and she teleported next to Elthia, who had stepped back near the edge of the field.

When she didn't say anything else, Elthia nudged her. "Aren't you forgetting something dear?"

She said nothing for a moment then cursed under her breath. "Due note, the laws today forbid knives, red magic, and harming beasts." After everyone else had turned to train, the judge leaned next to Elthia and whispered, "Thank you. I always assume everyone knows, what with the constant interruptions I always receive."

Elthia patted the girl's arm. "Don't worry yourself about it dear. Just remember next time." Both women turned back to watch the training.

For those who have not trained with actual weapons before, it might be easier to envision the first hour of the boys' training like their favorite sports' workout. There's lots of stretching, grunting and sweating, but not much seems to be done. In this case, however, instead of punching dummies or running in circles, Marche, Luke and Tabris were swinging sharp weapons in increasingly difficult patterns at Marcus' command. Sometimes while also running in circles.

Elthia quickly became bored watching that however, so she instead watched her husband's lessons for Montblanc. She soon broke into laughter as the two set each other on fire and frantically cast blizzard spells on themselves. She took pity on them and cast cure and shell on the pair of them after both nearly froze themselves in place. Even that didn't stop their antics, but with a judge here Elthia wasn't too worried.

"The viera seems quite a good shot." Elthia nearly swung her staff at the judge, instead catching herself and clutching her chest. Cynthia glanced downward and added, "Are you alright Mrs. Intrician?"

Feeling her heartbeat slow to normal, Elthia forced a smile. "Of course dear, just a bit on edge. And yes, Rona there has improved herself quite well." The viera in question had just split an apple at forty lengths away. "She's been going on about her plans to become a sniper one day."

"I'm sure she will. Although she might need some training with sir Harkold to better adapt in close range situations." Elthia nodded in agreement, but was distracted by Marcus shouting at the boys.

Tabris and Luke had begun sparring, Luke with his short sword and Tabris with a greatsword. Muttering a quick regen spell on the pair, Elthia turned to focus on Marche and Marcus.

The two fought closely, although it seemed Marche was on the offensive. It was clear that Marcus was holding back, much more so than usual, but Elthia guessed he simply was examining Marche's skill. Satisfied no one would be hurt for the next few minutes, she turned to Cynthia and smiled. "Well how's the judge life been dear?"

Cynthia turned in surprise. "Uh, fine, thank you. And you, Mrs. Intrician? How's your business?"

"Well enough. Too many people coming in for after-battle wounds though. No sense of honor these days." She shook her head and sighed. "I suppose the other towns are no better though."

"Well…" The judge tapped her sword thoughtfully. "Do you have any contacts with clans, Mrs. Intrician?"

She shook her head. "No dear, and call me Elthia."

Cynthia shook her head. "Not on the job Mrs." She turned to watch as Tabris blocked a whirling strike from Luke. "Regardless, an oddity has arisen recently. The calling of judges seems to be falling lately. Usually I've been called seven or eight times a week in the countryside, but this past month alone I've only gone thrice."

Elthia cast a quick cure spell as Tabris took a blow before responding. "Well, that alone doesn't seem very suspicious. Perhaps there's been a new judge put in place there. I know some bandit clan was captured in the past few weeks-"

She paused as the judge motioned to speak, but then Cynthia shook her head. "Perhaps you're right. I must be imagining things."

"Mmm." She nodded, glancing back at the field. "If you'll excuse me, I believe Luke just died. Just a moment."

/-\\\\\\\

"_Why did I agree to this?"_ Marche thought. Marcus had put him through a mock fight, but if anything, it was a mockery of him. Every slam against his body ached with pain, and he could feel the heat getting to him.

Too late, he tried to sidestep an incoming stab, but he felt the blade pierce his side and the ground quickly reached up to him. His vision swam as he lay panting on the ground, clutching his wound. He couldn't even force out a scream-yet the urge to do so vanished as the pain ebbed away. He felt someone, probably Marcus grasp his shoulder, and then he was lifted to his feet.

"Well, for a five minute first go, that wasn't too bad." The paladin said after a moment. He laughed as Marche gaped at him. "Alright, perhaps eight minutes. Regardless, you did well. While you're attacks were fairly obvious and not too strong, you did well at dodging my blows."

As the familiar soothing feeling of healing magic settled around his body, Marche shrugged. "It's not like history class taught me how to fight. And I had to dodge, the one blow I tried blocking shook my sword onto the ground!" He glanced at his side, where the wound had vanished. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. How much could this magic do?

"Quite true." Marcus sheathed his sword and snapped, grabbing Marche's attention. "Why don't you and Luke spar for a bit? Perhaps someone closer to your skill would help more. Luke!"

The boy twirled around a stab from Tabris and shouted back, "One moment." Marche watched as lunged forward, putting Tabris off balance with a stab. Before he could recover, Luke kicked his foot. Tabris collapsed and Luke walked away as Elthia shuffled over to heal. Marche gulped.

As Luke approached, Marcus sighed. "Could you not act like Anna? This is training for an actual engagement, not a play to perform."

Wiping his blade on the grass, Luke answered, "I'd like to see you tell Anna that to her face. Though I would add that I was not 'performing' anything. Knocking someone to the ground is perfectly valid in its lethality."

"But when you can't do so, how do you expect to take the blow?" As Luke's face darkened, he added, "You cannot improve if you continue focusing on agility. Anna's…work requires her to be quick, untouched, and more importantly, unseen. Your work will include actually taking a hit and standing strong."

The brothers stared at each other, the same dark look on their faces. Unsure of what to do, Marche coughed. "Uhm, I was supposed to train with Luke, right?"

Marche flinched as two sets of eyes bore down on him. "Right, right." Marcus turned and waved the two to follow. "Let's get you set up, and then I'll take on Tabris. Perhaps this time he'll land a hit." Marche glanced at the bangaa who had just risen and noticed his eyes widen in fear.

They stood in a small circle roughly eight feet wide (about two-and-a-half meters for the metric minded) and stood poised as Marcus watched. Marche tried to examine his opponent like Marcus had taught, but all he could remember was Luke weaving around Tabris' blows.

Not that Luke gave Marche much time to think. Once Marcus said," Begin," he lunged forward with his blade. Marche yelped and jumped left, swinging his sword down. Silver met yellow and Luke spun out of the clash into another swing. Marche couldn't dodge and felt the blade bite into his arm. A whine escaped his lips, but Marche stayed on his feet. Luke's face turned to a scowl and he kept up the pressure. Marche's blocks became feebler and feebler until Luke slammed his blade out of his hands.

Marche shut his eyes as Luke stabbed his chest, and then the darkness swirled around him. He heard screams and moans, but couldn't tell from where they came. Yet they sounded somewhat…familiar. He tried to focus on a particular voice, some older man, but the voices faded until only silence surrounded him. Then just as quickly light shone and Luke's disgruntled face came into view.

"Back on your feet. I want you winning three matches before we finish." He said, offering his hand. Marche was about to say he was too exhausted, but as he took Luke's hand he felt wide awake. Almost as if he'd had a full night's rest or eaten a mega-sized Hershey chocolate bar. He still grimaced.

"How is this helping me train, exactly?" Luke sighed at the question and wiped his sword on the ground.

"The purpose is to have you see how each of us fight and choose a style to adopt. Then Marcus can begin doing one-on-one training, as well as pair us off better." At Marche's confused stare he added, "Yes, this was done to propel you forward with training. Although Montblanc seems to have overestimated your abilities if you can't even handle a simple attack sequence."

Marche glared at the teenager. "Well sorry I haven't fought with a sword before the other day."

Luke shrugged. "It was a simple observation. For instance, you didn't even use the enchantment available through your blade. Although you simply might not know how to use it properly, in which case my brother forgot yet another-"

"Excuse me, did you say 'enchantment?'" Marche interrupted. "I thought we got this from a smith!"

"Mr. Grandose is a smith. The only magic he knows is from his old gladiator days. But every smith has contacts with masters of other professions, and they are the ones who give the power to the weapons." Luke explained. He pulled out his blade and pointed to the tip. "Look at the inscription here."

Skeptical, Marche took the offered blade at read the inscription-or tried at least. The symbols seemed nonsensical, random curves and bends all around each letter, but it still seemed familiar to the boy. He handed the blade back and shrugged. "Okay, what's that mean?"

"It means this." Marche gasped as the blade plunged into his chest. After a moment he closed his mouth and looked down. No blood poured out of him, and Marche watched as Luke calmly pulled his now blue sword out, where it slowly returned to its normal yellow. "How do you feel?" Luke asked.

"Uh, confused? And a bit light headed." Marche admitted, poking the spot where the blade just left. "Why didn't that hurt me?"

"It did, just not physically." Luke swung out suddenly. Marche hopped back, but tripped over himself and fell on his back. As Luke calmly began stabbing at him he continued. "I simply drained you of your magical reserves. You feeling light headed is better than most people. First time it happened to me I had a splitting headache all day."

Luke paused for a moment and Marche used the opportunity to back off and stand up. "But how'd you do it? And what does my blade do?" He gasped, struggling to breath. How could the teen so casually talk to him as he fought?

"I just focused on you weakening. As for a silver blade, I honestly do not know." Luke shrugged, suddenly stabbing forward. Marche slashed up, knocking the blade away. "Better." Luke said, a grin rising to his face. "But why don't we speed it up?"

Marche gulped as the teenager dashed at him and grasped his blade in front of himself. Luke didn't even let him strike back, his sword seemingly everywhere. Luke's blows rang against his blade, reds and blues flying in front of his eyes. He felt a cut against his leg and suddenly his blade felt heavier in his hands. Put off by the change in weight, he yanked his sword up with all his might, but only succeeded in blocking another blow before being shoved backed.

Breathing hard, Marche saw Luke running at him once more and grimaced. He was just so fast! As the yellow blade flew at him, Marche shouted, "Just slow down!" Luke's grin faltered as his blade sunk into Marche's shoulder, even as Marche sword sunk into his stomach. Yet he didn't fall, but instead pulled back, mirroring Marche as he slowly clutched his wound-or at least, what should have been a wound.

Marche was too busy staring as his blade lost the remnants of green flickering. "Wha…what was that?" He glanced up at Luke, but quickly jumped aside as the yellow blade stabbed at his chest. Marche readied to block the incoming strike, but blinked as Luke's blow came later than before.

"Hey, don't go easy on me now just 'cause I'm new." He said, even as he blocked another series of almost lazy blows. "Seriously, you were so fast before, what…happened…" A smile started to form, even as Luke's scowl grew.

Thrusting aside Luke's next blow, Marche stabbed forward, blood now flowing from Luke's chest. Luke shuddered, but spun in a slow circle with his blade outstretched. Heaving his sword one last time, Marche slashed him across the back and the teenager fell at his feet,

"Luke? Luke! I didn't really mean to do that!" Marche shouted. Even as he did, a white light settled around the boy and Marche heard coughing. A similar glow on his right side and lack of pain meant his own wounds were healed too. But he only cared about the teen before him. "Oh thank God…"

"Well, *hack,* you certainly did better that go around." Luke said, taking Marche' outstretched hand and standing up to wipe his blade. "I suppose your weapon has a slowing enchantment then. I almost thought someone cast a haste spell on you at first."

"It's not like I knew what was going on. I just wanted you to slow down!" Marche said, mimicking Luke. "But, what was that other thing that you did, that made my weapon feel heavier?"

Luke didn't even look as he answered. "I simply drained your strength instead of magic. I learned that from my first weapon-"

"So you don't need the same weapon forever? When do you know you learned the…the 'technique,' I guess?"

Luke huffed in annoyance. "Why not ask my brother later? We still have more training to do, and you need to beat me two more times."

With that, he stepped forward to charge Marche, who raised his blade in time to block-

Nothing, as Luke suddenly fell forward onto his face, shouting "Woooaah!" Marche started to laugh at the absurdity, but as he walked over to help, his foot slipped and he fell backward.

As he wondered when ice had formed on the grass beneath them, he heard Montblanc and his teacher laughing from afar.

/-\\\\\\\

"Kupo, I'm exhausted." Motnblanc said. "Luke, put me on my seat, I can't jump."

"No."

"Aww, but why?" The moogle complained as the group laughed. They'd worked throughout the entire day, taking a short break for lunch, and now sat in the Prancing Chocobo, Marcus' favorite all-in-one pub.

Imagine a stereotypical Irish pub, with its dark colors, low lights, plastic chairs, cheap food and beer all around. Now exchange electricity for magical fire that didn't harm, plastics for wood, cheap food for dinner (that was also cheap), and beer for…well, keep the beer. That was the Prancing Chocobo, and the noise booming around the group as they sat down made it all the more comfortable for Montblanc.

The entire walk here Montblanc wondered how much he still needed to learn. He'd proven himself a master of the basics to Renald, but his teacher refused to teach him intermediate spells. Perhaps he needed to search on his own. The moogle knew where to buy spell books, but where would he get the money? Or maybe he should try expanding the current spells…but how would he extrapolate them?

Panting a little as he finally heaved himself onto a chair, Montblanc noticed Marche sighing as he sat down. The moogle hopped onto the seat next to the boy and tapped his shoulder. "Hey kupo! What's got you down?"

"Huh? Oh nothing Montblanc." He said. He placed his scabbard down gingerly on the floor and flashed a smile. "Have fun throwing fireballs at everyone?"

He laughed. "Just a little, kupo. Enjoy the first day of training?"

As Marche answered, he accepted a glass of milk from the barmaid. "Well, if Elthia hadn't healed me constantly I'd be dead twice, have three broken ribs, a pierced lung and no feeling in my right hand. Oh, and, like, fiftieth degree burns everywhere. But other than that, just perfect."

"Sounds like someone's a little sore to me, kupo." Montblanc asked, taking water instead. "Pagos." He muttered, and a few ice cubes fell into his glass. He laughed as Marche's eyes widened. "Not every spell has to hurt someone, kupo."

"Yeah! They're great for pranks too!" Rona added, sitting on Marche's other side. "Some of the things I pulled off because of Montblanc were so awesome."

Marche looked at Montblanc in surprise. "You pull pranks?"

"Of course kupo! How else can I train my mind?"

"Or get Luke and Tabris to have some fun?" Rona added with a sigh. "The two of them are talking about swords or something right now. Like they weren't just slashing each other with the things all day."

The conversation broke off as the barmaid came back for orders. Marcus boldly stated they could order as much as they liked for such hard work, but Montblanc wasn't feeling particularly hungry. He ordered a gyshall salad and hoped his body wouldn't hate him too much for the extra tomatoes. Glancing at Marcus, he could tell the others were taking full advantage of his offer. With everyone looking at the waitress, Montblanc noticed Marche pout.

After she left, Montblanc asked Marche, "Hey kupo? I was wondering, you said you came to St. Ivalice only a month ago. Where were you before that?"

"Well, I moved around a lot." He leaned back and scratched his arm. "But I lived in Georgia the longest."

"Kupo? Why's that?" As Marche's face fell, Montblanc hastily added, "Err, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to kupo."

The forced smile didn't reassure Montblanc. "Nah, it's fine. We moved around a lot because of my fa…my brother Doned. He's only a few years younger than me, but he's been paralyzed since, well, ever."

"That's horrible kupo! Wait, are you worried he's here in Ivalice too?" The teen flinched then slowly nodded. "Kupo! Well, uh, we'll find him!"

When Marche shrugged Motnblanc tugged his shirt until he turned around. "Really kupo. I promise, no matter what, we will find your brother." The hume still hesitated, so Montblanc sighed. "Kupo, I have siblings lost too. If I plan on finding them, what's to stop me from finding your brother too?"

Marche didn't answer. Montblanc sat back in his seat and bumped his pom-pom back. He realized the others had gone quiet and were staring at him. "Kupo? Something on my face?"

"Montblanc, you remembered something!" Rona shouted. Marche yelped as she dived across his lap to hug the moogle. "I'm so happy for you!"

"At least this time it's something important." Luke remarked. He accepted a glass from the waitress and added, "What was it last time? Your favorite spell?"

"K-kupo!" Montblanc gasped, beating his wings in a vain attempt to escape Rona's grip. "I'll have-let go kupo!-you know fire is a blast-kupo!-to throw."

"Well said my student! Well said!" Renald shouted as Elthia rolled her eyes. He took a swig of his drink and gave an evil laugh. "How much trouble would I get in with if I frosted the floors dear?"

While the others began laughing as Elthia berated her husband, Rona finally got off of Montblanc (and Marche, whose face had turned an interesting shade of red), Marche cleared his throat. "Err, am I missing something here?"

"Oh right! You wouldn't know, would you Marche?" Rona exclaimed. The viera cleared her throat and pointed toward to glowering moogle. "So Montblanc here has had a case of long-term amnesia. I don't know how that's different from normal amnesia, but there ya go." Rona shrugged. "He was fine up until a few months ago and then he suddenly forgot who we all were! He didn't even remember the 'Great Chocobo Dash'."

Dinner arrived while Rona recounted the tale for Marche. Montblanc barely paid attention. Almost everyone would believe Marche's brother had caused the memory, but Elthia would question him more. Or, worse, question why he'd never spoken about more than one sibling before. They only knew about Nono, so how the kupo would he explain- "Eh-po?"

"I asked if you wanted any of my chicken." Marche said. "You only got a salad, so I thought you might still be hungry."

Montblanc blinked up at the hume then glanced his empty plate. "Kupo, well, I guess should eat some more. But only a little kupo. Thanks."

Moving the plate, Marche shrugged. "I wasn't too hungry anyway. Elthia's late lunch filled me up, and I didn't do too much after I died…" He shook his head. "I'll never get used to saying that."

"Mwaht?" Montblanc looked up from the food. Swallowing some chicken he said, "Dying, kupo? But it happens all the time. You said so yourself kupo."

"Well, yeah, but…" Marche paused, tapping the table. "Where I'm from you can't just come back to life. If you die, that's it. No second chance, no life spell, nothing."

"Oh. Kupo-ku." An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, but as Montblanc was about to ask Luke about tomorrow, Marche grabbed his arm.

"Hey, um, Montblanc? If I'm here, and my brother might be here, do you think other people from my world could be here?"

"I guess so kupo. It's not like we really know how you got here anyway."

He tried turning again but Marche had one more question. "Would someone here be able to, well, revive someone dead for a while?"

"Po-kupo, I wouldn't do that Marche." The boy let go of his arm and sighed. "Kupo, it is possible, but no white mage would do it for you."

"Why? Elthia does it all the time and-"

Laughter broke out around them, jolting the pair out of their talk. A bangaa lay on the ground near the bar table as his companions looked around. For some reason the floor near the fallen bar stool shone quite brightly. "Hey, that bangaa looks familiar." Marche muttered, edging back in his seat.

The moogle heard the howling laughter of his teacher behind him and realized what the light on the floor was. "Oh, kupo."

"Renald! Are you drunk?" Elthia shouted at her husband. He nodded cheerfully at her and hiccupped. Montblanc and Marche began laughing as Elthia dragged Renald out of the bar. "Montblanc, you come too! I need someone to sober him up, and you're his student." He cringed and followed, the laughter from their table only increasing.

/-\\\\\\\

The crown of Ivalice weighs heavy upon its wearer. Ignoring the everyday issues of a country, the ruler must stay firm in the handling of not only their enemies, but also their allies. Finding out corruption has risen once more in major cities, threats of undead have begun arising throughout the countryside and that the Viera have not sent a representative from Muscadet-again-can grow grey hairs on anyone's head. The only thing that could possible worsen the situation for a ruler, however, is when their fourteen year old son tells them, "I'm bored." Hence why Mewt had kindly, if firmly, been requested to remove himself from the Queen's meeting and why now the prince was searching for his caretaker.

"Babus? Are you in here?" Mewt asked. The crown prince of Ivalice peeked his head around the door of yet another meeting room only to find no one inside. Mewt walked in with a sigh. "Ugh, whenever I actually want to ask him something, he's not even in the castle."

He hopped onto a crimson seat and lay his head on the gleaming wood. "There's nothing to do! I just wish I knew where Babus went. He'd tell me stories and maybe even-"

As the prince complained about his lack of fun, he felt himself suddenly rise a few inches. "Woah!"

He stood up and felt a rise of disappointment that he had not, in fact, just grown in seconds. Disappointment turned to confusion once he glanced down at his seat and found his grimoire upon it. Mewt stared in silence before shrugging and picked it up. "Not the weirdest place I've found you. But how do you keep following me?" He muttered. "Oh well, I suppose I should go back and study anyway-huh?"

The grimoire opened itself and began flipping through its pages. Even when Mewt backed away, dropping it, it stayed in place. "Hehe, well this is new." He chuckled uncomfortably. Realizing some servant could walk in at any moment, he shut the door and turned back in time for the book to fall. He picked it up and gasped. "Wow! I didn't know you could find people!"

For upon the very pages Mewt read there was a hand-drawn image of Babus Swain in all his white furred dignity. Pages upon pages of his life read out underneath him, and at the very end more words filled in exactly what the Crown Pince's caretaker was doing at this very moment.

"This is awesome! Hey, I wonder if I could find dad too…" Mewt turned the page and stared at his father's picture in silence. "Alright, do you come with directions?"

Mewt took another seat and let the pages turn. They finally settled on a stylized picture of a pen. "That's weird, it looks kinda like the ones I used in…school. I can't even escape that stupid place in here either!" He slammed his fist onto the page, and all his rage vanished when his hand went into the book. With a yelp he yanked his hand back and out of the book, its page now empty.

In his hand was the pen_. Why would it give me a pen? It's not like I'm going to write stuff in it, right?_ He looked at the blank page. He glanced at the pen. "No way…" Fingers shaking, he pulled the cap off and wrote in scratchy script, "_My teddy bear_."

He looked up and laughed. There, as if it'd always stood there but never been noticed, sat Mewt's old, worn brown teddy bear from St. Ivalice. He grabbed it for a hug and squeezed. "I thought I'd never see you again." Plopping his old friends onto the table, he looked back at the book. If whatever he wrote really did happen…

_I have control over everything. _Mewt started shaking, all his fantasies rushing to the forefront of his mind_. I can get back at all of them. I can do whatever. Cast magick, wield a weapon. Stop corruption. Save the world. I can live forever. Mom can live forever…_

He slammed his fist onto the desk and stood up. "No! I am the prince of Ivalice! My duty is to my people. All those bad things happening around the kingdom and nobody's doing a thing to stop it. But what best to write for?" He began pacing the room, stepping around the ornate vases decorating the sides. "A judge? But they can't do anything if they aren't called. Besides, these criminals might be able to escape justice. And just killing them would be wrong. Man, why's this so hard?"

He paused in his pacing at the window as he heard shouting. Outside a circle had formed around six combatants and the watchers were rooting for their favorites. Mewt watched as a tiny moogle, farther from the others suddenly jumped up, causing lightning strikes amongst the rest, ending the struggle in seconds. Mewt smiled, walking back to the grimoire before he could watch the judge revive the dead. Twirling the pen between his fingers, he wrote what he knew would be the best solution to his country's problems.

_I wish for a clan to rise up and save this world and its people._

/-\\\\\\\

**Alright, so I maaaaaaay have delayed this one a lot. Like, super-duper a lot. Possibly because I forgot I had it, possibly because I kept rewriting it. I still don't like some of it, but I feel that I expanded on some characters and goals enough. Plus, I don't like releasing super huge chapters, just fairly long ones.**

**About concerns that I am too dark too early, don't worry. After this chapter, the next time this story gets really dark isn't for a good while. This is a story about kids adventuring through the world and being super awesome after all! **

**Again, sorry about the delay. I hope you all enjoy, and let me know how you think I can improve!**


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